ENVY
by kashkow
Summary: Sometimes you can take the measure of a man by the enemies that he has...Part 1 of the 'Seven Deadly Sins' cycle.


_**Author's Note**__: Nelson had it good, who's to say that someone else wouldn't want the same thing… Part one of the __**Seven Deadly Sins**__ series. Pray for my fingers to hold out. Thanks again to my beta, long suffering soul that she is. I'll tame the comma monster yet, I swear._

Envy by Ellen H.

Chapter 1-

Jason Pritchard III sat in his office reading the newspaper. It had been delivered by his personal secretary 15 minutes before, and he was lounged back in his large leather chair reading the articles the woman had high-lighted as being of interest. He did not have time to spend reading everything in the paper, that's what he paid other people to do for him. He only wanted to read those articles that would make him money or give him power. Those were the driving forces of his life. They had brought him to where he now sat, in the penthouse office of the 80-story tower that housed his company headquarters. Consisting of his expansive office, personal apartment-complete with maid and butler, with kitchen facilities-on call chef included, and entertainment space, not to mention the offices of his secretary and three personal assistants, the suite took up the entire top floor.

He had a personal assistant on call 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. When he wanted something done it got done _now_. His company was diversified in many fields all over the world: computer technology, pharmaceuticals, energy, mining, and electronics, anything that was profitable anywhere. The bottom line of all his investment decisions was profitability. The slightest sign that profits might be dropping was enough for Pritcorp to jettison that division. Jason Pritchard had parleyed the ten million dollars left to him by his father and grandfather and turned it into a personal fortune that placed him at number seven on the list of the world's richest men. His main ambition was to be number one before he hit 65, one year from now, if not sooner.

He turned the page, eyes scanning until he saw the small article, little more than a sidebar, which his secretary had marked for his attention. It was a notice that the submarine _Seaview_, privately owned and operated by Admiral Harriman Nelson, US Navy (Ret), would be moored at the naval facility across the bay for a one-week stay. The _Seaview_ had just returned from the Arctic Circle where her crew had been collecting data on prehistoric weather patterns by taking ice core samples deep beneath the ice cap. Now that data would be compiled via computer at the Billingsgate Institute for Paleontological Studies over the course of the next week with the help of Nelson, an acknowledged expert in the science.

Throwing the paper down with a snort of derision, Pritchard pounded a fist on one arm of his chair. NELSON! How he hated even the name of the man. Genius, philanthropist, environmentalist, multimillionaire, media darling, Nelson had come to stand for everything that Pritchard held in contempt. Having a tool such as the _Seaview_ and not using it to build his fortune was, in Pritchard's opinion, a sign that Nelson was completely mad.

The man had inherited great wealth and had, for some reason defying all logic, joined the Navy. Not only that, but had stayed in long enough to become an admiral. Then, when he finally left the Navy, did he use his supposed genius building his fortune? No, he built the world's most powerful submarine and then used it for 'research' to further his 'cause', preserving the oceans. It wasn't that he didn't make money with the machine, but he could make so much more if he abandoned his 'charity' work and concentrated on the possibilities.

Pritcorp had proposed such a joint venture two years ago, but had been summarily turned down by Nelson. He hadn't even bothered to do it in person, just a letter from some underling at that silly Institute. There at least, Pritchard thought, the man showed some worthwhile ego, naming it after himself. Pritchard had assumed that Nelson was a man he could work with, someone with an eye on the main chance; and then had come that incident concerning the Pelagasian plateau. It still had the power to make Pritchard grind his teeth in fury. They had found one crappy fish and some 'unique' coral, and Nelson had stopped the mining based on that. He had the place so tied up in the world environmental court that they would never get that manganese out of there. What had ever given Nelson the gall to go poking around in his business?

All the more infuriating was that not long after that there had been a change in the fortunes of the Nelson Institute. An almost meteoric rise in the activity and public awareness of the submarine and the Institute had furthered Nelson's cause. The submarine had gone from an expensive but useful toy to a cash cow for Nelson. Private and public scientific concerns began clamoring for research time even as government contracts rolled in. Things had gone on that even Pritchard's contacts couldn't uncover; things that gave Nelson the one thing that Pritchard most envied him, POWER. Nelson had the ear of everyone from the President of the United States down to the most junior newsman on a beat, as well as several foreign heads of state. The most visible measure of the trust reposed in Nelson was that the government let him wander around with nuclear warheads in a private vessel. Whatever Nelson had, Pritchard wanted. He had started making his own plans beginning with finding out exactly what it was that gave Nelson his edge.

Pritchard had set his investigators to finding out what Nelson had done, what he had changed, to have this sudden up-turn. So far the only significant change that had come to light was the change in command of the _Seaview_ following the death of its previous captain, but the investigations were still progressing. An extensive report on the new commanding officer, along with what information could be gathered about Institute finances, had landed on his desk that morning with the paper. What possible effect a simple sub jockey could have on the Institute's increased success was beyond his understanding, but he paid for thorough investigations and he would read the information provided. He opened the file, and stopped in astonishment at the picture that stared back at him.

THIS was the man that Nelson had put in charge of his very expensive toy? The picture showed a man with dark hair, strangely piercing golden colored eyes, and a lean, handsome face, a very young face. What had Nelson seen in this... boy? Pritchard scanned the summary below the picture. For God's sakes, the man wasn't even 35! He had known Nelson was mad, but this? At least Phillips, the previous captain, had been mature.

Pritchard started leafing through the file, at first not expecting much, then reading with more interest. There were huge blocks of the man's career that were classified, including during his command of _Seaview_. The investigator noted that it looked like Crane had done quite bit of work for the Office of Naval Intelligence but details were sparse. What had managed to leak out was fascinating; Crane was the youngest man ever to command a submarine in the US Navy, with medals and commendations galore. What those medals and commendations were for was open to speculation. Before arriving on _Seaview_, Crane had commanded a boat whose operations were even more secretive than was usual even in a community that was paranoid about secrecy. His shore-based assignments were equally cloaked. While Pritchard had no respect for the military - they worked too hard for too little profit - he at least knew that being the very best at something was worthwhile; it said something about a man's abilities. While it was hard to tell given the lack of details surrounding this man, he looked interesting. And his advent as commander of the _Seaview_ had possibly been the catalyst for Nelson's rising success. At least the timing was right. Pritchard was frustrated by the lack of specifics on the man's career. What was he paying these people for if they couldn't do something as simple as get information on a nobody sailor?

He turned to the last page, which had personal data on the man in question. It appeared he got around a bit with the women, though he was not married or engaged. He seemed to have few personal friends outside the Institute. Pritchard snorted as he read that Crane had no police record. For this he paid good money? Another note from the investigator said that rumor had it that the young commander was a close personal friend of Nelson, but didn't trade on the friendship. A dedicated and principled man, then, or a very clever one who was getting what he wanted by playing on the affections of a doddering mad man. Pritchard, willing always to believe the worst of anyone, thought it was more likely the second. Why else would a rising star leave the Navy for a going nowhere job like this?

Had he stayed with the Navy, according to the report, Crane would have made captain in a few more years, and then it would have been just a matter of putting in his time until he became the youngest admiral. Pritchard had no illusions about the Navy. He was sure it was pure politics when it came to making rank, just like in business, and evidently this so-young man was already a master at pulling strings and making the right friends. That he was obviously competent at his job hadn't hurt either. Pritchard closed the file and sat back in his chair. His mind moved through the possibilities. He had made his money by always hiring the best, and this man showed every indication of being just that. It wouldn't hurt that he could deprive Nelson of an asset, particularly if Crane was also a friend, eh? He reached for the intercom button.

"Michaels, get in here," he snapped.

Seconds later a door leading to the outer offices opened and Gary Michaels came in. In his mid-forties, Michaels always reminded Pritchard of Cassius in _Julius Cesar_. A lean and hungry look, indeed. But it made him a good assistant, as he was always eager to please. Not that Pritchard hadn't taken a lesson from the play and kept an eye on Michaels to be sure that his ambitions didn't get too big. Of course he kept an eye on everyone; it was the price of success. Pritchard slid the folder across his large mahogany desk, and Michaels picked it up.

"Get on the horn, I want a meeting with him tomorrow. Make it dinner, 8:00. My table at Lebeau's." He picked up the paper again and went back to reading. As far as he was concerned, it was a done deal. If he had any conflicting appointments they would be moved. His wife of 20 years would be notified of the schedule change, and a car would appear to take him to the restaurant. Michaels, used to being summarily dismissed, nodded at the man behind the paper and headed out of the room. He opened the file and looked at the picture of the young man. He shook his head. The kid didn't stand a chance.

Chapter 2-

Captain Lee Crane was lying on his back, his head and shoulders inside an access panel, when he felt someone nudge his foot. He continued tightening the nut that he had been working on, re-securing the loosened harness which had caused the wiring in the panel to have intermittent connection. The fact it had decided to become intermittent while they were at depth and under an ice pack had been something of a problem, though the redundant system had operated correctly. However, Crane was determined that the main panel would be operational. He could have left it to the maintenance boys, but it made him feel better to get in and do it himself. That way he knew it was done, and he didn't have to worry about the system in the future.

As a submarine commander he had learned early that the less you had to worry about in terms of possible problems, the more effective you were, and that effectiveness meant his crew was safer. That was very important to Crane. His crew was the best and they deserved a commander who made sure that everything was taken care of properly. The crew's safety couldn't always come first. Sometimes you have to put a crew in jeopardy to get a job done – good commanders made sure that they minimized the risks.

The _Seaview_ had docked a little over two hours ago and the crew was being released on shore leave. While the Executive Officer saw the liberty parties off, he had taken the opportunity to do a little maintenance himself. The duty crew would have had this casualty report on their list of maintenance actions, but this way it was done in case of an emergency. With the back up system working well, the safety level had doubled and that gave Crane a sense of satisfaction. He often had to put the crew in unavoidable danger to carry out their mission but he'd be damned if he'd subject them to avoidable risks.

He finished with the nut and started to wiggle out of the confined space. Emerging from the panel he found he had been correct in his idea of who had given him the nudge. Chip Morton, his second in command and best friend of many years, was standing lounged against the bulkhead waiting for him to finish. There was no impatience in his stance; Chip knew him well, and would know that he would complete whatever he was doing before responding.

Morton, over a year senior in age to his superior officer - a fact Crane brought up at every birthday - was the exact opposite of his commanding officer in many ways. Where Crane was lean, Morton's frame was sturdy; where Crane was dark haired and dark complexioned, Morton was as blond, blue eyed and pale skinned as his Nordic ancestors; where Crane was solemn and tended to brooding silence, outside the confines of his position Morton was outgoing and boisterous. However it was their similarities that made them such a good team - competent, trustworthy, and dedicated to their boat, crew, and each other. Each had recognized years before that in the other he had found a brother in spirit if not blood.

"No problems getting everyone off to shore leave?" Crane asked as a matter of course. The XO was very good at his job, and Crane knew that any problems that had arisen had been quickly and efficiently dealt with.

"Other than Wilkens wondering who was going to take care of the finicky five while he was away, no," Morton answered. Their newest crewman had been assigned to feed Nelson's current experimental animals, five squid which had proven to be very particular in their eating habits. It seemed no two would eat the same thing, and it had been something of a challenge for the young man to find something for each. It wasn't like he could pop down to the local pet store and get some squid chow, not while they were under the polar ice cap. He had tried everything to get the little cephalopods to eat and having finally found the formula, he had evidently been reluctant to release his responsibility to an unknown crewman.

Crane grinned up at his XO from his position on the floor. He was putting the access panel cover back on. "Well, you'll be around; maybe you can take care of it." He knew that Morton hated the sight of the little squids. Hell, the man wouldn't even eat fried calamari, and since Morton would eat just about anything that was saying a lot.

"Very funny, Lee. I'll put you down on the roster for feeding rotation this week. We know squid LOVE you."

Crane laughed and rose to his feet with the aid of an extended hand from Morton. The two men were almost the same height, and they exchanged smiles as their eyes met. Of the blessings in his life, Crane had three that he never forgot; meeting Chip Morton and Harriman Nelson at the Academy had been and were the top two blessings in his too eventful life; working with them on _Seaview _he counted as the third. He couldn't imagine better friends, better work, a better life.

He looked in curiosity at Morton while wiping his hands on a greasy rag, wincing as he passed the rag over the sluggishly bleeding cut on his left palm. He'd have to get some peroxide and a band-aid on that. "You down here harassing me for a reason, or just passing by?"

Morton snorted in amusement. There was little chance he would be 'passing by' down here. The only place lower was the bilges. "You had a phone call. Some guy named Michaels wants you to call him back." Morton's sharp eyes caught sight of the blood on the rag, and reached out to grab Crane's left hand. Turning it up to the light, he frowned at the cut that spanned most of the palm. Crane snatched his hand away and bent to pick up his small tool kit. Loose objects were never just left lying around on a submarine. They could become deadly missiles in the event of a crisis and, even docked, his training would not allow him to leave something on the deck. Stowing the kit in a locker, he decided to ignore his cut in the hopes of getting Morton to do the same. It seemed an unlikely gambit, but one never knew.

"So you're my private secretary now? Great! I have some reports that you can get started on…"

Morton held up a hand.

"Don't bother with the diversionary tactics. That hand needs to be looked at, and I know just the place." He knew his friend well. If he didn't insist on sickbay, Crane would splash on some peroxide, slap a band-aid on the cut, and consider it done. Morton grinned as his friend scowled at him. "And don't try the command glare either. It won't work. Besides, Jamie is already gone. Frank can take care of it for you with no lecture involved." With the threat of Doctor Will Jamieson's lectures regarding the proper care and feeding of a certain submarine captain out of the picture Crane brightened a little.

It wasn't that he didn't like the Institute and _Seaview_'s Chief Medical Officer, in fact he saw him as a friend, but he could only take so many lectures regarding what the physician saw as a blatant disregard for safety on his part. What Jamie couldn't seem to grasp was that this is what Crane was here for. It was his responsibility to get things done, and if it required a little bit, or even a lot, of his blood so be it. Unfortunately, Jamieson wasn't the only one that worried about his seeming accident-prone tendencies. Both Morton and Admiral Harriman Nelson, the owner of _Seaview_, tended to think he couldn't take care of himself either. Secretly it warmed his heart that so many were genuinely concerned with his health, but he really didn't know why they couldn't understand that he simply did what he had to do, consequences aside. He sighed, knowing he would have to make a trip to sickbay. At least he had gotten this done first. Chip was not above dragging him there physically, though mental coercion was his specialty.

"Very well, Chip. Let's get this over with. I want to get down to the reactor room and check that 3rd pressure valve. O'Brien said they were getting an anomalous reading when we were running at flank speed earlier." He started down the corridor, Morton following close behind.

"Lee, you are not responsible for the maintenance of the entire boat. Leave something for the dock crew to do. Otherwise they'll spend the entire week playing poker." Crane grinned, knowing that no rating would be so bold as to even think about goofing off on duty with Morton and Sharkey nearby.

"There doesn't seem to be anything else more exciting to do. For once my desk isn't buried… I can get through them in short order." Chip mentally added, "S_o I've got time to play with my boat" _before he suggested.

"Well here's a radical idea. How about taking shore leave? Doing something, I don't know, fun?"

Crane shook his head.

"I just took two weeks before this last cruise. I'm not going to take advantage of my position to take more time than the ratings get." Morton snorted.

"You were on sick list because you had the flu. I don't think you can count that as taking leave."

"Was I on the boat performing my duties?" Crane asked logically.

Morton growled. "No. But you weren't sunning yourself on the beach either. You spent most of the first week doing reports in your office, and the rest of the time either throwing up or flat on your back in bed. If John hadn't stayed behind for that dentist's appointment and caught you in the head tossing your cookies, no doubt you would have gone home, took a slug of Nyquil, and called it good."

"Results would have been the same either way. This way John didn't get to enjoy his leave, and I was still sick for a week."

"Lee, if he hadn't been there you would have been sick and dehydrated and probably starved to death when you couldn't get out of bed."

Crane waved the protest away. It wasn't that he wasn't grateful for the care he had been given, but he wished that John, one of Jamieson's corpsmen, hadn't had to give up his time. John was newly married and hadn't had too much time to spend with his new bride. Taking care of Crane on pretty much a twenty-four hour basis for most of a week hadn't improved that. Crane had sent a bouquet of flowers to the young lady in apology, but had little hope in it being any consolation. He turned into the sickbay, and did a smart about face to stop Morton in the doorway.

"I think I can handle this myself. I'm sure you have better things to do," he said sternly.

Morton narrowed his eyes, looking at his friend with suspicion. Crane smiled back with an innocence that had served him well on several undercover assignments. Morton frowned. He wasn't going to fall for that look again.

"I'll just hang around until you're done. I have that message for you, you know."

"Why don't you just give it to me?"

"Don't think so."

Crane turned as he heard footsteps coming out of the dispensary. Frank looked up from his clipboard in surprise. A voluntary visit from the captain was almost unheard of, but then he caught sight of the XO hovering in the corridor as if to block the exit. Well so much for voluntary. Crane held out his hand.

"Mr. Morton thinks you need to look at this. It just needs to be cleaned out and have a band-aid put on," he said. Frank put down the clipboard and motioned to a chair, hiding a smile at the skipper's hopeful self-diagnosis.

"Have a seat, sir. I'll take a look." He noticed that now that the skipper was committed the XO had disappeared. He knew that the skipper had noticed too because as he turned to gather supplies he heard a soft snort from the direction of the chair. It was amusing to watch the way these men took care of each other. Not that the skipper didn't need someone to ride herd on him about his health. As it was the whole crew was grateful that Morton's long friendship with the captain let him get away with chivying Crane on a regular basis. Frank rolled the tray of supplies over and sat down on a rolling stool. Crane presented the hand in question and Frank turned his full attention to taking care of the wound.

Thirty minutes later Morton was standing at the chart table going over the maintenance schedule when he looked up to find Crane approaching from the nose. He was still wearing the soiled uniform from earlier but his left hand now sported a white gauze bandage. Crane was reading reports on another of the ubiquitous clipboards as he approached, faultlessly navigating the area without paying any real attention to his steps. Crane came to a stop at the chat table and, after he finished reading, raised his eyes to Morton. He grinned and waved his left hand.

"All better now, Mommy. Can I have my message now?" he said like a small child asking for a treat.

Morton frowned sternly but said with a twinkle in his eye, "Have you been a good boy?"

"Not lately." Crane grinned unrepentantly.

Sharing a laugh, Morton handed over the message slip. Crane looked it over and frowned. "Who the heck is PritCorp, and why do they want to talk to me?"

Morton shrugged "Didn't say; just a very snooty secretary asking for a return call ASAP. Maybe some Institute business or something; you've been doing some of that for the admiral." Crane nodded thoughtfully.

"Well, guess I can find out rather than speculate. I'll call from my cabin, and see about getting the last of those reports done." He grabbed another clipboard, this time missile room reports, and started forward.

"Hey, it's almost lunchtime. How about a sandwich in the wardroom in an hour and a half? It'll give you a break," Chip suggested. Crane nodded vaguely, already immersed in the information on the clipboard. Morton knew he would have to go and drag the man away from his desk, or he would be eating alone. Chip shook his head at his friend, and went back to his own work.

In his cabin, Crane finished going over the clipboard and then reached for the phone. Since they were docked he was able to dial out without going through communications. He dialed in the number and sorted reports while it rang. He had several reams of paper to get through, and he hoped he would be able to catch up with the seemingly unending flow sometime in the next week. He had offered to take care of Nelson's paper load as well as his own so that the scientist could devote himself to the ongoing studies. The look of appreciation in the blue eyes had been worth every piece of additional paper that found its way to his inbox.

The phone was finally answered by a switchboard operator asking for the extension. He was too distracted by a requisition form to notice the change in tone when he asked for the extension that Chip had written down. He was puzzling over the increased need for grease in the engine room when a voice came on the line.

"Michaels." The voice was brisk and even in that one word, just like Chip had said, snooty. Crane had not risen to the rank he had without dealing with a lot of secretaries, so he was not intimidated.

"This is Commander Lee Crane. I have a message asking me to call you."

"Ah, Commander. I called you at the behest of Mr. Jason Pritchard III, the founder and CEO of PritCorp. Mr. Pritchard read that your submarine was docking in the area and would like to arrange a meeting with you for dinner tomorrow night at 8:00 at LeBeau's." Crane searched his memory, but could not recall having met, or even heard about, a Jason Pritchard.

"Why would Mr. Pritchard wish to meet with me? To my knowledge I have never met him. Is this in reference to the Nelson Institute of Marine Research?"

"Mr. Pritchard wishes to speak with you personally regarding a private matter, Commander. Can I tell him that you will meet him for dinner? I can send a car if you do not have transportation."

"And you can't give me any idea what this may be in reference to?"

"No, sir, I am not privy to that information."

Crane considered for a few moments. He didn't have any other plans, and Morton would be on duty tomorrow night. He admitted to himself he was curious as to why he was being approached. He suspected it was someone trying to reach Nelson through him; it had happened before, and would no doubt happen again as he was taking on more and more of the administrative duties of the Institute. He had swiftly learned to spot promoters, and had no problem saying 'no' to requests for help in gaining Nelson's ear. Oh well, it was a free dinner, hopefully at a good restaurant. Plus, he felt it was his duty to run interference between Nelson and these types of people.

"Very well. Tell Mr. Pritchard that I would be happy to meet with him. 8:00pm will be fine. I'll get there on my own." All the better to leave when _he_ felt like it, not someone else.

"Very well, Commander. I'll inform Mr. Pritchard. Good day."

"Good day," Crane replied and hung up the phone. He puzzled for a moment about the meeting, but shook it off. He would have to be sure to mention the restaurant to Chip. Morton would be here with Cookie's back up, Williams, whose repertoire seemed to run only to sandwiches and canned soup. The idea of sandwiches tweaked a memory in Crane's mind, and he tried to get a hold of it, but when nothing came he just shook it off and went back to his requisitions. If he knew his XO it wouldn't be too much longer until he showed up trying to get him to go to lunch.

Chapter 3-

Pritchard entered the dining room of the prestigious Lebeau's restaurant and caused the usual uproar. The Maitre'd hurried over as soon as he had entered the door, inquiring after his health and motioning the coat check girl to take Pritchard's camel hair coat. He was seated at his usual table, the best in the house of course. He ordered a vodka martini and sat back to see if there was anyone there that he needed to speak to. Not seeing anyone of note he turned his attention to the menu, ignoring those people trying to catch his eye. He was trying to decide exactly what he wanted when he heard a woman at the next table give a low whistle and speak to her companion, another woman.

"Now _that_ is a reason to stand up and salute. Why didn't they make them like that when I was still young?"

Pritchard followed her line of sight to the entryway where a tall, slim figure in a dark blue Navy uniform stood. Pritchard could see that the man's appearance was causing quite a stir, and not only among the female diners. Most of the men were sitting up taller and attempting to pull in their stomachs, though there were few who would have ever cut the same heroic figure. The man was speaking with the maitre'd, and after a moment they headed toward Pritchard's table. As the young man's destination became clear, a murmur of speculation rose among the tables. They all knew Pritchard, but who was this man joining him? Pritchard smiled to himself. He liked to be the center of attention and if the mystery could be deepened all the better. He casually continued to peruse his menu, ignoring the speculation.

Lee Crane ignored the looks and whispers as he followed the maitre'd through the crowded restaurant. It was _very_ upscale, and he doubted that the average officer could afford even an occasional meal there, much less be a regular diner. He had been to many such restaurants with Nelson over the course of the last few years, and the only thing he could say about them is that at least he didn't have to worry about getting over full. The portions tended to be small and decorative rather than filling. It usually drove Chip to stopping at a hamburger joint after leaving the fancy dinner.

Crane noted that they were heading toward a table sitting by itself on a raised dais near a large picture window. A gray haired man wearing an expensive suit sat at the table reading, or rather pretending to read, the menu. Crane had seen his eyes scanning the room, and himself. The man's face was patrician, lean and finely made with a tan that spoke of hours on the golf course or yacht. While not fat, the man was large in frame, and Crane suspected they would be the same height had the man been standing. The Maitre'd' d stopped five feet from the table and waved Crane on. Crane stepped up to the table and waited for acknowledgment from the man he knew was well aware he was there. Crane was too experienced with superior officers who felt it was their right to get around to you when they felt like it to be offended or intimidated. He simply waited until the pale blue eyes rose to meet his and then smiled politely and offered his hand.

"Mr. Pritchard? Lee Crane." Pritchard seemed to examine him closely, looking for what Crane didn't know. Then he met Crane's hand in a firm shake. He motioned to the other chair and Crane seated himself.

"I imagine you are interested in why I have asked you to join me tonight, Commander. I suggest we order first, and then get down to business." Without waiting for Crane's assent, he motioned to the hovering waiter who rushed forward, followed closely by the sommelier and a bus boy with glasses of water. Crane barely hid a smile at this rush of solicitude. Mr. Pritchard must be a big fish indeed to get these people worked into such frenzy. Pritchard ordered his meal as Crane looked over the menu. The younger man raised an eyebrow as he saw the prices on the menu. As the wait staff turned their attention to him, he ordered a regular steak and asked for bourbon on the rocks. The waiters disappeared as quickly as they came, and Crane found himself the focus of Pritchard's gaze. He had been stared at by professionals, including an angry Nelson, so he had no problem returning the searching gaze. He sipped the drink the waiter deposited in front of him and waited calmly for his host to speak.

Pritchard was deeply impressed by what he saw. The man was personable, cool, and obviously didn't lack for confidence. The piercing golden hazel eyes looked at him squarely, not quailing at all before him. This man would not be intimidated. Pritchard was assured he had made the right choice, now it was a matter of sealing the deal. He took a drink of his martini then set it down and sat back in his chair.

"As I said, I am sure that you are wondering why I asked you here. We have never met, but I have read many good things about you in newspaper articles. If I may say, you are younger than I would have expected for the job you do." Crane smiled slightly. So far nothing he hadn't heard before. Usually the promoters started out complimenting him and then turned the conversation to Nelson. _Let's see how long it takes_, he thought.

"I assure you I'm well qualified for my position, age aside," he said.

"Oh, I can see that by the articles. Not to mention by that row of ribbons you have on your chest. I don't believe that most of those are just for years in service. They imply a high level of competence. In fact, it is that competency that has brought me to ask you here. I have a proposition for you, one that would be to your advantage." Crane raised an eyebrow, but didn't speak. _Yes_, Pritchard thought, _this is a cool one_.

"I have studied Nelson's set up for several years, and while I must admit he has had some success with it, I believe that there are some obvious opportunities that he has missed. I don't intend to make that mistake. I have opened a new division of PritCorp to grasp those missed opportunities and I want you to be a part of it." That got a reaction as Crane raised both eyebrows in surprise, but behind the surprise there was calculation in the golden eyes.

"I'm a sub jockey, Mr. Pritchard. That's what I do, and that's what I'm good at. I don't do the corporate thing."

"Oh come now, Commander. I am well aware that there is a heavy administrative duty involved in commanding a vessel, and also that Nelson has handed off many aspects of the Institute's business to you as well. I assure you that corporate work is little different." He noticed that Crane's eyes had narrowed at something he said, but he continued, "Anyway, I know not to take a man out of his milieu. You're the best at what you do, and that's what I want. I only hire the best. What I have to offer you is a position at PritCorp in our new division, doing what you are doing now, and at twice your present salary. I am aware that you have… obligations to the Navy." The golden eyes narrowed again and Pritchard realized the Crane did not like that he had been investigated. "That won't be any problem; when you have to meet your obligations, arrangements can be made. Of course, the offer comes with a generous vacation and bonus package as well as comprehensive insurance and a retirement plan that I believe you'll find quite attractive." He broke off as their meal arrived. "Let's enjoy the meal, and then we'll continue."

Crane nodded, his mind whirling. So, Pritchard was not a promoter, but a headhunter. He had heard about corporate headhunting, the practice of stealing talent from one corporation to fill vacancies in another corporation, but had never thought to be the object of the hunt. He pondered, while he ate his steak, what Pritchard had meant by not taking him out of his milieu. As far as he was aware, only the Institute had a private submarine worthy of the name. Many of the various research institutes around the world had submersibles, but they hardly required a captain of his training, and definitely didn't rate a $75 steak dinner for recruiting purposes.

As he kept up a flow of small talk with the man across the table, discussing sailing and defense budgets, he let his mind take a gallop around the industry information he had read over the last few years. Multi-tasking was an important skill for a submarine commander. He was sipping at his refilled drink when he found the thread he had been searching for. An article in a engineering journal almost a year ago about a private submarine being built using a new metal/ceramic hull developed by Ceramico, which he would now be willing to bet was a division of PritCorp. He had studied the figures and plans at the time and had been interested in seeing the proposed submarine. It was smaller than _Seaview_, but they didn't have to make provisions for the missiles.

If he recalled the article correctly, the sub was to be used to locate and mine ocean mineral deposits. Crane had conflicting feelings regarding ocean mining. He had seen some beautiful areas - once pristine, life-filled oases in the sea - totally ravaged in the name of profit. He had heartily backed Nelson's stance on stopping the pillaging where possible. But he was cognizant of the fact that as resources on land faded, mining of the ocean floors would become a matter of necessity. He had learned, also from Nelson, that it was possible to mine the riches of the oceans without harming the oceans in the process. He somehow got the distinct feeling that PritCorp would not be deeply interested in environmental protection issues. The meal over, the plates were removed, and Crane declined dessert. Pritchard leaned back in his chair and looked at Crane with one eyebrow raised, obviously inviting Crane to ask questions. The younger man obliged.

"I assume that it is your corporation that was building the _Tantalus_. Is Ceramico one of your divisions?" This time it was Pritchard whose eyes narrowed, and he sat forward in his chair.

"That's not supposed to be general knowledge. May I ask how you came by that information?"

Crane, satisfied with the response, sat back in his chair, cradling his drink.

"If you've been investigating me then you know that I hold a Masters degree in Marine Engineering. I read the journals when I can, and last year there was an article on the ceramic metal blends being used in submarine construction. The article mentioned that it was being used on a submarine being built by a private corporation, though it didn't mention which one. I simply added 2 and 2 and came up with someone needing a submarine captain." Pritchard nodded slowly. He had forgotten about the article, and had never expected that Crane would have made the connection from it. Such an intuitive leap was a good indication of the working of the man's mind. Pritchard was becoming more and more interested in this young man. He shifted forward.

"You're right of course. The sub is finished, and it's time to get her to making money. I want you at her helm, and to have a major voice in the division. The _Tantalus_ is docked down at our facility in the bay. She was delivered last week from the boatyard. I would like to show her to you, get your opinion." He held up a hand. "No pressure of course; I just would like to hear what you think of her. Say in the morning?" Crane thought for a moment and then shook his head.

"I would like to see the sub. The concept is very interesting. But I can tell you now that I am not interested in your offer. I'm happy where I am, and I wouldn't want to give the wrong impression by doing a tour." Pritchard felt a moment of anger at the blatant turn down; that was not something he was used to. Then he reined in his temper; the man was playing hard to get, well, he could play that game too. He made himself speak in a friendly manner.

"I understand. You don't want to make such a decision on the spur of the moment. Please come and see the ship. We're at berth 43. Will you come?" Crane barely stopped himself from correcting the 'ship.' He thought about it for a moment; he would like to see the boat and he had made his position clear, so there should be no harm in it.

"I have watch in the morning. I'll be free after 1300, excuse me, 1:00 p.m. tomorrow, if that would work."

"That will be fine. I can send a car for you." Pritchard stopped as Crane shook his head.

"I can walk. We're not that far away."

"Good, good. I'll meet you there and we can do the tour. I have only seen it once myself. Maybe you can explain some of it to me in words a landlubber can comprehend."

"I'll do my best." Crane glanced at his watch. "If you'll forgive me, I need to be getting back to the _Seaview_. I have a large amount of reports to finish up. Thank you for dinner." He stood and reached out to shake the other man's hand.

Pritchard stood also and watched the young man move smoothly through the late dinner crowd and out the door. He reseated himself and signaled to the waiter for a refill on his drink. So this young man was going to be difficult? He no doubt wanted to be courted and was fishing for more pay or bonuses. Well, Pritchard was prepared to deal to some degree. The young commander had impressed him. He suspected that the man might be even more impressive in action. He wondered just exactly how he could find that out. He sipped at his drink, and sat back to make plans.

Chapter 4-

Lee Crane climbed down the ladder into the control room, eschewing the last three rungs as usual. He tucked his cover under his arm and started forward, to find himself the cynosure of two pairs of blue eyes. Nelson and Morton sat at the table in the nose, watching his approach. There were half empty glasses of a suspicious amber liquid on the table before them along with various papers. Crane suspected that Chip was getting an earful about paleoalgae. No wonder his glass had less than Nelson's. He came to a stop and put his hands on his hips.

"Oh, sure. You wait until I'm off the boat and then go on a drunken binge. I suppose next time it'll be loose women and wild music," he said, and grinned. Morton picked up a pile of papers lying nearby and gave them a toss into the air.

"Yippee," he said in a flat voice, and then returned Crane's smile. He looked closely at his friend. "I don't see any doggie bag. You get to go out to some fancy restaurant while I eat a sandwich and you don't even bring back leftovers?" Crane shrugged out of his coat and put it and his cover on the table, taking a seat across from Nelson who had been listening with sparkling eyes full of humor.

"I know it's hard for someone like you to understand, Chip, but there are _some_ dining establishments that don't _do_ doggie bags." At Morton's frown he reached into the pocket of his coat and drew out a bag, tossing it to his XO. Morton opened the bag and broke into a big grin; he reached in and pulled out a large bag of almond M & M's.

"For this I'll save one of the loose women for you." He opened the bag and tossed a handful in his mouth, rolling his eyes in exaggerated enjoyment. Crane laughed and looked over at Nelson.

"How are the experiments coming along, Admiral?" This was the first he had seen of Nelson since they had arrived yesterday morning. Nelson had come back to the boat late the previous evening and had left early that morning. That indicated to Crane that things were going well, but he was always interested in what the admiral was doing, even if he often didn't understand half of what was going on. Nelson smiled and sipped his drink.

"It's going as planned. We are moving along quickly thanks to the student involvement. The extra hands take care of the more tedious work and leave Alvin and me to look at the slides." Alvin was Dr. Alvin Throughgood, a colleague of Nelson's from his time at the university. He was an expert in the field of paleobiology, and had been thrilled at the opportunity to research the ice samples. Nelson's eyes studied Crane. "Chip tells me that you were invited out to dinner with Jason Pritchard III himself. Flying in high company now, are we?" he asked with a twinkle. Crane grinned at him, and reached for the bottle that was at Nelson's elbow. He snagged Morton's glass, drawing a scowl from the XO who was still munching M &M's. He poured himself a tot, and topped off Nelson's as well. With his own eyes sparkling with mischief, he sipped his drink and sat back.

"You both better treat me right; I got another offer tonight," he said with a smirk, and then reached over to pound Chip's back as he aspirated an M & M. After he could breathe, Morton looked at his friend who was still smirking.

"What do you mean another offer? ONI wants you full time?" Nelson had gone still, his eyes curious.

"No. Not ONI. Pritchard or I guess Pritcorp, offered me twice my salary, bonuses, vacation, insurance, and an attractive retirement plan." Crane said, sitting back to enjoy the effect. Morton didn't disappoint him.

"What the hell would you do in a corporation? I can just see you every day in a suit and tie with a briefcase saying 'yes, sir' and 'no, sir' to some corporate bigwig." Casting a glance at the silent Nelson, Crane swiveled around to face Morton, deciding to play his friend a little.

"You don't think I could pull my own weight in the corporate world?" he said seriously, with just a hint of hurt in his tone. Morton, taking his words at face value, instantly back-peddled.

"No, I don't think you'd have any problem doing the work. I just don't think you'd like the rigid rules and necessary butt kissing that comes with the job. You aren't exactly a yes-man," he said seriously and then, catching sight of the amusement in his friend's eyes, reached out and punched him in the shoulder. "Just for that I'll keep the loose women for myself," he grumbled. He sat back and popped a few more candies. "Well, what _does_ some corporate mogul want with a submarine commander?" He asked.

"He has his own submarine. He's trying to staff it, and came up with my name, I guess. It was a headhunting expedition. And my head was supposed to be on the stick. Do you remember that article I showed you about a year ago on the submarine being built using the ceramic/metal blend hull plates?" Chip tried to recall it, but couldn't bring it up. His specialty was electronics and, while he had a natural interest in all things submarine, he wasn't all that knowledgeable about hull materials. He shook his head. Nelson, who had been quiet up till now, spoke.

"I remember it. It looked like an interesting concept. Not as strong as the herculite, but lighter. If I recall correctly, the article said the boat was being built by a private concern. I take it Pritcorp was the concern in question?" Crane nodded.

"I'm going to see her tomorrow. She's moored around the bay a ways. It should be interesting to see how they've compensated for the lighter hull plates. She's smaller than _Seaview_, but doesn't have a missile room. I don't know if they've added cargo space or labs since they didn't include any diagrams of her layout in the article. I'll go after my watch tomorrow." He smiled at Nelson. "This way I can keep up on the competition with their cooperation." Nelson shook his head.

"Pritchard isn't interested in taking on any of our business, Lee. He proposed several joint ventures in the past, when John was alive, purely commercial. I'm afraid he wasn't pleased when I turned them down. He's notorious for only hiring the standouts in any industry. You should be complimented that he asked you. It seems I have some competition for your services." He quirked an eyebrow at Crane; his tone was teasing, but the younger man saw something else in the blue eyes.

"I told him no. He's the one that insisted on showing me the submarine. I must admit I am curious about it, and this is probably going to be the only opportunity I get to see it. I won't go if it bothers you," he said seriously. He met Nelson's blue eyes steadily, and felt them look into his soul.

"I don't ever want the Institute, _Seaview_, or the feelings that you have for me to hold you back from something that you want to do. No matter where you are or what you do, I will always feel the same, and I will make no changes in my plans for the future of the Institute," Nelson said. He was on the edge of that mostly unspoken thing that was between them, he knew. They _had_ spoken of the feelings that each had for the other, but had agreed, silently, that it would not be a consideration in their day-to-day dealings. He could see that Lee appreciated the sentiment as it was meant, and had no doubt of the honesty of the answer.

"I have everything I want here. If I were looking for money I wouldn't have joined the Navy. And," Crane paused and looked from Nelson to Morton and then around the nose and control room, "there are things here that make it more attractive than what he can offer." In the face of such a statement Nelson could think of no reply so he raised his glass to his young captain. Crane raised his in return. Morton raised his bag of M&M's, and the talk turned to boat business.

A half hour later Morton had retired to bed, leaving Sharkey with the deck watch and Nelson and Crane still sitting in the nose. After the blond man had disappeared up the stairs, Nelson looked over at Crane. He believed what Crane had said earlier, but he felt that he needed to make sure that Lee understood.

"I meant what I said, Lee. I don't want to think that I am holding you back, that out of gratitude or misplaced loyalty you would put yourself second. You deserve everything that Pritchard is offering you. The Institute can raise your salary…" He stopped as Crane raised a hand.

"No, the Institute won't. I get my yearly raise like everyone else. I have more than enough to do what I want to do and to put some aside for emergencies." Crane slid around the table until he was in the seat next to Nelson, and the older man turned to face his captain. "I read once the difference between a job and a calling, I can't remember where, but what it said was that a job is what you do and a calling is what you are. What Pritchard offered me was a job. What you _gave_ me was a chance to find my calling. I _am_ the Captain of the _Seaview_. It's what I am more than I have ever been anything, more than I ever will be anything. When I think of my future, that's what I am. That's not about gratitude or very well placed loyalty or anything else; it's just the way it is." The golden eyes were sincere and Nelson had no further doubts. He patted the slim shoulder, unable to speak for a moment. He nodded.

"Thank you, Lee. I am glad I could give you the opportunity. Now, if I am not mistaken you have the early watch, and I have some data I want to look over. You don't need to be down here nattering with me. Good night, Lee." He rose and went up the spiral stairs before Lee could see the brightness in his eyes that could not be put down to the drink. How well his heart had chosen all those years ago when it had picked this man to carry his legacy into the future.

Chapter 5-

Crane found Berth 43 easily the next day. It had been a pleasant walk around the bay, and he was in a relaxed mood as he was checked through onto the dock where Pritchard was talking to another man. A third man, lean and pale, was hovering anxiously in the background as if he had somewhere else to be, but couldn't leave. There was something in the second man's posture that screamed to Lee, 'Navy', and as he watched him take his leave of Pritchard and walk up the gangplank, he modified that to 'submariner.' Pritchard turned to face Crane, offering his hand.

"Commander I'm glad to see you. She's ready for the tour. In fact I have arranged for the ship to have its first trial trip, just a jaunt around the bay here. I was just talking to one of the men in charge of the crew from the shipyard. He's letting them know so we will have free run of the ship without interference." He started up the gangplank. Crane frowned, and once again bit back his instinctive correction on the terminology. There was a more important thought in his mind though.

"There haven't been any sea trials? How did it get here?" He had been studying the submarine as they talked. She was the same gray color as most submarines, and was modeled after the standard hull designs. There were some interesting changes in the dive planes visible above the waterline, and there was a sweep to the tail that was made him think of _Seaview_. She was sleeker than his own boat and had no windows, but she was an attractive boat all the same.

"They had a sea-going tug bring it in, then used small tugs to nudge it into place. But all the better, this way I get to try her out in the presence of an expert." Pritchard waved away Crane's concern. And Crane was concerned; most shake down cruises were a comedy of errors as things were tried out and everything settled down where it was supposed to be. In fact it sounded as if they didn't even have a regular crew yet, if the shipyard crew was taking care of the shakedown. In his opinion, the men that were going to crew the boat needed to be on her when she first sailed, where possible, to allow them to become familiar with her peculiarities. It wasn't possible with Navy boats, but there was no reason that a non-military boat couldn't be tried out by her crew. She, like _Seaview_, should be able to enjoy a stable long term crew, and being there from the beginning was a great asset. He regretted not having been able to be on the _Seaview_ when she launched.

As they entered the boat through the hatch in the sail, and a short climb down the ladder landed them in the control room, Pritchard absentmindedly introduced his 'aide', Gary Michaels. The man seemed to hang on Pritchard's every word, and Crane got the distinct impression that should Pritchard say 'jump,' they would be peeling Michaels off the overhead. He turned his attention to the boat they had boarded. While the instrumentation was standard, Crane could immediately see that the bracing and supports were vastly reduced compared to _Seaview_'s. It made for a more open compartment, slightly larger then he was used to. He frowned slightly as he noticed that all of the pipes and electrical lines had been hidden behind what appeared to be a false ceiling. He really didn't like the effect. It made the control room feel too much like an office. It would also be a maintenance nightmare.

There were a several men, mostly in overalls, working at various panels. Pritchard stopped in front of what Crane identified as a computer panel. It was a highly sophisticated machine. He recognized the model from Chip's journals. He and Nelson had discussed it and had decided against trying it. The main selling point of the system had been a completely automatic control program that could take over from the human crew, something like a sophisticated automatic pilot. This was to supposed to free up personnel for other duties. Since _Seaview_ was seldom in a position where Crane would be comfortable leaving a skeleton crew in the control room, and given their experience with programs that were supposed to do the same thing, the idea had no appeal.

Crane listened as the tech that was working on the computer talked about the system. He really didn't hear anything that would make him change his mind, but he asked a series of questions about the program that got the tech's attention. He seemed glad to have a knowledgeable person to talk to about the system, though Crane thought he looked a little nervous about something. Pritchard had appeared bored through most of the conversation, wandering about the control room and looking over the shoulders of the men working. Crane couldn't help but contrast this man with Nelson. Had this been the _Seaview_, Nelson would have been listening with interest to the computer tech's answers or, barring that, would be up to his elbows in one of the panels himself. His attention returned to the tech as he heard something he didn't believe.

"Did you say that you are going to use the computer to run the shake-down cruise here in the bay?" It was not completely unheard of, but the boat _and_ the system were untried, and none of the regular crew was aboard. In addition the crew that was aboard was only twenty men. What if something went wrong? And to top it all off they planned to use the system in a congested area instead of out at sea.

"It will be a limited application. The computer will control the power systems, and take care of the environmental systems; the rest of the procedures will be handled by the crew. It's just here in the bay, so there shouldn't be any problem," the tech said. "I have triple checked the programs." Crane nodded doubtfully. It wasn't his boat so he had no say, but he was beginning to wonder if he shouldn't find a way to bow out of the sea trial. He had a bad feeling about the whole undertaking. He was sure that the yard crew was competent to run the boat, but he didn't think this was going to work out well. Pritchard obviously didn't understand, maybe he, Crane, should say something.

"Mr. Pritchard, given that the systems are untried and the boat is short handed don't you feel that you should wait on using the computer to such an extent? It would seem more prudent to wait until the boat is staffed and at sea."

"Prudent never made me any money commander," Pritchard said with a grin, and waved away Crane's concern. "Everything will be fine. We've paid a pretty penny for that system. I expect it to work." He headed toward the aft hatchway, evidently finished discussing the issue.

Pritchard took him through the rest of the boat one compartment at a time. The crew -mostly techs and a few regular seamen who had brought the boat in from the shipyard - were happy to have someone to talk to who understood what they were talking about. Crane explained as much of the technology as Pritchard wanted to know, but Crane got the distinct impression that Pritchard wasn't all that interested beyond the submarine's capabilities to make money.

They entered the engine room half an hour later, finding the short squat man that had been speaking with Pritchard earlier. Prowling around supervising several other men who were working on an instrument panel, the man was cursing like a sailor on liberty. Pritchard frowned, but Crane took it in stride. He walked around the compartment, staying out of the way of the workers who were having a problem getting the panel to give the responses that it was supposed to be giving.

He noted with interest that the power source was a nuclear reactor developed by Nelson. The design was compact and very powerful. It was more than a submarine this size needed, even if she took on a large volume of cargo. She would be very fast, even faster than _Seaview_ when not loaded down. He looked over the instrument panels that they had set up so far and didn't realize he was frowning until Pritchard popped up at his elbow and asked what was wrong. Crane nodded to the panel he was standing in front of.

"It's the wrong panel. That's why they can't get the right output on the dials; the one over there is supposed to be here, and this one goes over there," he said confidently. Pritchard swiveled on his heel and barked a name. The short man came over and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

"You've got the panels reversed. That's why your idiots can't get it working."

"Look, Mr. Pritchard, I know that you own the boat so to speak, but I have put these kinds of things together before now, and new or not I know what I'm doing. You hired us to put this boat together. Let us do it." Pritchard's face took on a red tinge, and Crane could see a fire kindle in his eyes, one that did not bode well for the technician. He sensed that not too many people talked to the man that way. He placed a hand on Pritchard's arm, and stepped forward.

"Then you installed it wrong," Lee said baldly. The shorter man blinked and took a step back from where he had been up in Pritchard's face. "The actuator panel is always installed next to the inundation controls and the rod control panel is on the other bank. I think you'll find that because of how the reactor was installed in the compartment that they reversed the set up of the panels. Those two are the only two panels that have the same dial and input lead setups so it would be easy to make a mistake if you didn't use the panels day to day." The short man stared at him for a moment.

"And you would be?" he asked looking at Crane's khakis and his _Seaview_ insignia that he had not bothered to change. Crane put out a hand.

"Commander Lee Crane. I command the submarine _Seaview_. We're moored around the bay. I am familiar with this setup because it was designed by Admiral Nelson who also designed _Seaview_'s systems." Out of the corner of his eyes Crane saw Pritchard frown at the sound of Nelson's name.

Unsure how to reply to that, the man took Crane's hand.

"I'm Boskins. The boys call me Chief on account that I was one when I was in the Navy." He turned around and glared at the offending panel, and then at the one that the men had stopped trying to make work. He snorted in disgust. He waved a hand at them. "You heard the man. Quit trying to make that thing work. Get this one off and get it in the right place. Who numbered these things anyway?"

"Uh…Jenks back at the yard."

"Well, I'm gonna have to have a little talk with him when we get back." He spun back around and looked at Crane. 'Thanks, Commander, we would have been poking around with it all day." He ambled off to help with the dismantling of the incorrect panel. Pritchard, who had stepped back when Crane had spoken, had lost much of the red color in his face, though he cast a nasty glance at the short man.

"As you can see I need someone like you to get things done correctly. I assume that you have considered my offer. I assure you I am open to negotiation. Make me a counter offer." Crane shook his head.

"I told you last night, that while I thank you for the offer, I'm not looking for a new job. I'm happy where I am."

"Look if it's the money thing…" Pritchard began, only to stop as Crane shook his head.

"It's not the money. My friends and family are at the Institute, on _Seaview_. It's where I want to be. I appreciate the offer, but no," Crane spoke firmly. Pritchard stared at him for a moment and then shook his head.

"You are a tough negotiator, Commander. Let's go up and see the officers' quarters. Let me tempt you a little more. Since the _Tantalus_ is going to have a small crew we have been able to make the officers' cabins quite nice." He ushered Crane out. As the two men exited the compartment, Boskins looked after them and shook his head.

"That one don't like this set up a bit, fellows. I don't think Mr. Big is gonna get what he wants this time. That Navy boy is way too savvy to fall for his line of patter. But at least we'll have someone who knows what's what onboard during the test."

Chapter 6-

On the _Seaview_ Chip Morton was reading one of the ever-present clipboards when Sharkey came through the aft hatch of the control room. The chief looked rather anxious. Morton kept his eyes studiously on the clipboard and hid the grin on his face. The chief was always in a snit about something, and Chip knew that making him wait would only exacerbate the situation. He was mentally counting down the moments…

"Uh… Mr. Morton, sir?" _Ah, three seconds, a new record._ Morton looked up as if he had just noticed the chief was there. He quirked an eyebrow.

'There's a rumor going around… Not that I really pay much attention to scuttlebutt, ya know, but the crew, you know how they get."

"Spit it out, Chief."

"Well some of the ratings, they say that the skipper's going somewhere else, getting another job on another private sub. That they're offering him so much money he can't turn it down. They say he's off to see the boat now, checking out his new cabin and everything." The chief's eyes were pleading with Morton to say it wasn't so. Chip looked at the deck as if in contemplation, but really to hide the smile that even his XO mask couldn't conceal. He looked back up and nodded solemnly.

"I'm afraid it's true, Chief, at least part of it. The captain was offered another position, at a generous salary increase." He deliberately stopped there. The chief practically bounced in barely suppressed anger.

"You mean someone came in and just stole him away under the admiral's nose? They can't do that. Didn't the admiral try to keep him? I mean he has lots of money too. Couldn't he just match it or something? The skipper don't want to go nowhere else, he belongs here. What am I gonna tell the crew?" Morton had finally managed to wrestle his face into some semblance of a serious look as he listened to Sharkey babble away. He waited for the man to wind down and then spoke.

"Perhaps you should tell the crew that they shouldn't gossip about their superior officer's private matters because if they have nothing better to do than spread rumors, I'll find them something to do."

"But, Mr. Morton, it's the Skipper…"

"What about Captain Crane?" came another voice. It was Nelson, who had come down the ladder from above as the two men were speaking.

"Well this other job thing. It's not good, Admiral. We gotta convince him to stay. I mean, we need him when the you-know-what hits the fan, sir. Besides, he's not gonna be happy somewhere else, and… and who will look out for him when he goes off on ONI missions? It just ain't right, sir, you gotta make a counteroffer or something." Nelson, listening to Sharkey with a bewildered half smile, cast a glance at Morton who shrugged and grinned. Sharkey finally stopped long enough to read body language and expressions and caught on that he was being kidded.

"Oh… Oh I see. It's all a rumor; none of it's true, right? I'll kill those knuckleheads for spreading scuttlebutt about the skipper like that."

"Before you start taking names, Chief, you should have the full story. Captain Crane _was_ offered another boat - another private boat - and he turned down the offer," Nelson said.

"I shoulda known that the skipper wouldn't go somewhere else. I'll tell the crew. Make sure they ain't spreading rumors." He marched off in righteous indignation and the two officers watched him go. Nelson shook his head at Morton.

"You shouldn't get him all wound up that way. One of these days he'll have apoplexy or something and then where will you be?" Chip grinned at him unrepentantly and glanced at his watch. It was just after 1500 hours; he was surprised that Nelson was back so early. Last night he hadn't gotten back until after 2100.

"You're back early. Problem with the samples? "

"No, no, not at all. We wrapped it up early tonight because things are going so well." Nelson looked around. "Lee hasn't come back yet?" Morton put the clipboard down on the chart table and leaned back against it, arms crossed on his chest. He looked curiously at Nelson.

"Are you worried that Lee is going to be tempted by Pritchard or the money?"

"Pritchard? No. I don't think he's the type of man that Lee would get along with very well. The money, definitely not, but the new submarine, that might just get his attention." Nelson looked around at the _Seaview_. His brain child and dream for many years, trying to see it through the eyes of a young man in his prime. "She's not as young as she used to be, and there are new innovations that a submarine man like Lee is could find attractive. Lighter, faster, more maneuverable. No doubt with the newest thing in computers and power plants." Chip was shaking his head before Nelson even finished.

"It doesn't matter what they have over there. What matters is what's here. You are not going to be able to pry him out of this herculite shell until he's too old to make it down the ladder anymore, and then he'll probably have himself hoisted in the cargo hatch. She may not be brand new, but she's still the best boat out here, and to Lee she probably always will be. We've been keeping up with the new innovations. If he wanted a new boat he could go back into the Navy full time and they'd give him one. You know that."

Nelson sighed. Yes, he did know that, and he did not doubt the sincerity of the statement that Lee had made the night before. Still, doubts had crept into his mind as he listened to the gossip among the students about the new submarine that was down in the bay. Several had been at a bar with crew from the _Tantalus_, and had gotten an earful about her new systems, powerful engine, and revolutionary hull material. He had wondered. He smiled at Morton, and shook his head at his own doubts.

"You are right, Chip, and I can't say that I'm going to be any different. Are you off duty soon?" The in-port watches were run on different schedules than those at sea, allowing for more of the crew to have the time for a limited liberty. Chip glanced at his watch again.

"Sharkey takes over at 1600. What did you have in mind?"

"There's a small café, about three blocks from here. They do very good Italian. Would you care to join me?" Chip smiled.

"I was just trying to figure out what to do about the sandwich situation. I would be glad to. Are we going to walk or take your rental?"

"Let's walk; I feel like some fresh air. It'll be light until almost 2100. I'll be back down in about half an hour. I want to look through any messages in my cabin." He went up the spiral stairs.

Morton shook his head, mostly to himself. He believed what he had said. He firmly believed that Crane would stay with _Seaview_ as long as he could. He had never seen a person take to a machine like Lee had taken to _Seaview_. It was if the boat was a living thing to him, a mistress that pulled his attention from everything else. Morton was sure that wasn't going to change. He had almost come to believe that Crane could get the _Seaview_ to do things for him that anyone else would have no chance at achieving. He shook away the fanciful thoughts. He picked up the report again. That Italian food would taste good.

Chapter 7-

Crane stood with Pritchard on the bridge, enjoying the feeling of wind blowing through his hair. They had left the dock 15 minutes earlier, and so far Crane's doubts had not been realized. The computer, with the able help of the crew, had taken them out of the dock smoothly and they were now sailing at quarter speed down one of the channels. They would go to the mouth of the bay and then back to the dock.

Pritchard was holding forth at length about his plans for the submarine. Crane found himself slightly sickened by the man's disregard for the environment. He had always thought of the sea as his home, and the idea of it being violated by this man for profit was as distasteful as having someone break into his house and destroy his possessions. Also not sitting well in his craw was Pritchard's seeming indifference to the submarine.

While Crane did not really expect others to feel the same way as he did about submarines, and while the _Tantalus_ was not the boat that _Seaview_ was, she was still performing well and deserved some recognition. He nodded vaguely to something that Pritchard was saying, and frowned. They were still heading down the channel. By his calculation they should have turned earlier. As it was, they barely would be able to make the turn before they were in the main channel out to the open sea. The boat showed no sign of turning. Finally, he could wait no longer. He reached out and grabbed the microphone that was mounted on the rail of the bridge. Pritchard, no doubt wondering at his action, stopped in mid-sentence as he spoke into the instrument.

"Control room, this is Crane. Are you aware that we are past the point where we should have turned? We will have to go out of the bay and turn at sea."

"Yes, sir, we are aware. We're having trouble with the computer; it seems to have taken over navigation as well as propulsion. We're trying to get Peters, the tech, on it but can't locate him. He's not up there is he?" Crane shook his head, amazed that he somehow couldn't seem to get away from computers that didn't know their place. "Why don't you just disengage?"

"Uh... We tried that. It won't disengage. That's why we need Peters. That geeky landlubber is probably in the head somewhere puking his guts out. Boskins is hunting him down. We cleared it with the harbor authority, they know we are having problems and are keeping the channel clear for now."

Pritchard was frowning now too.

"I paid a lot of money for that system, damn it! It's state of the art. Fail safes all over the place. Those idiots have messed something up." He growled, pounding his fist. He reached over and took the microphone from Crane. "This is Pritchard; isn't there someone down there that can tell his ass from a hole in the ground? Unplug the damn thing and take us back to the dock. What am I paying you people for anyway?"

"That's not going to help," Crane said. He peered around. They were almost out into the open sea now, and the sub was beginning to roll with the waves breaking in the narrow channel. He noticed that their speed was picking up as well. They were up to at least half speed now, and moving out of the channel. He was aware that the drop off into deep water was very near to shore here due to a large underwater canyon that started just east of the mouth of the estuary. He was getting ready to reach for the microphone again when a klaxon started sounding.

"What the hell is that?" Pritchard said. Crane didn't bother to answer, he just grabbed Pritchard's arm and dragged him to the hatch.

"Get below, NOW!" Crane knew exactly what it was. It was the dive warning. He looked forward, and saw that the bow was already awash. They didn't have much time. Pritchard was standing on the top rung of the ladder looking at Crane. "Get below, we're diving!" Crane shouted at him. The older man stood there staring at him for a moment then dropped quickly out of sight. Crane waited till the man's head cleared the hatch, the stepped down himself. He quickly dropped far enough to clear the hatch and then dragged it down; water was starting to trickle in even as he twisted the wheel, sealing the hatch. Pritchard was standing at the bottom of the first ladder, staring at the hatch. He seemed to be speechless with anger. Crane ignored him and went down the second ladder into the control room, without bothering to use the rungs. He rounded on the men standing over the computer. There was no one at the helm, and evidently the rest of the control room watch had given up trying to use their instruments and controls.

"Can't you turn the damn thing off? Where's the tech?" he asked.

"He's gone! He got off before we sailed, the rat bastard." It was Boskins who answered from the aft hatch. He entered, followed by three other men. "Jones here saw him go out the forward hatch. He said he was going out for a cigarette. Jones didn't see him come back in but assumed he'd come back through the main hatch. Before he left he locked out the auxiliary control panel for that computer. We can't do anything with it down there." Crane looked around.

"Who's in charge?" He didn't want to step on anyone's toes, but he needed to get on the radio.

"That would be me. I'm Hansen." One of the men stepped forward.

"I need to make a call. I might be able to get someone who knows this system or at least one similar.

Do we have any idea where it's taking us, or at least the heading?" Hansen waved at the communications station.

"Go for it. We seem to be heading out on 125. We've leveled out at 200 ft and we're at ¾ speed. The computer has all the controls. We can't even turn off the reactor since it was set to be computer controlled originally."

"And there's no manual override, anywhere?" Crane asked as he moved to the communications station.

"It's gone. All the codes we were given are gone. He closed every back door into the system that any of us ever heard about. Wherever it's going, we can't stop it." Crane shook his head, and turned to the radio operator. He gave the man the proper frequency, and then took the microphone.

"This is the _Tantalus_ calling the _Seaview_. _Seaview_, do you read?" There was a pause. Then a voice replied.

"T_antalus_, this is _Seaview_. Please identify." Crane smiled a little. It sounded like Hotchkiss, and he had followed procedure exactly as Crane had called on an emergency frequency.

"This is Crane. I need to speak with Lt Commander Morton."

"I thought it was you, sir. I'm afraid Mr. Morton isn't here. He and the admiral went out to dinner nearby."

"Great," Crane said to himself. "Hotchkiss, we're having a little bit of trouble with the computer onboard the _Tantalus_. It doesn't want to relinquish control to manual. We're already outside the bay on 125 at ¾ speed at 200 ft. We are working on the problem but I would like to have Mr. Morton's help on hacking the program. Can you get him on the pager and have him come back to the boat ASAP?" Crane could hear some sounds in the background as Hotchkiss replied.

"Sure, Skipper, I'm doing it now. Uh, Skipper, the chief wants to talk to you." The next voice was Sharkey's.

"Skipper, are you saying that you are stuck on a sub with no control over where you are going?"

"That's exactly what I am saying, Chief. We're trying to break the computer's hold on the systems, but until we can, we're going wherever it was programmed to go." Crane thought for a moment. "Chief, is Boyington there?" _Seaview_'s Master at Arms often preferred to hang about on the boat rather than take liberty.

"Yes, sir."

"Have him get over to Berth 43. See if there is anyone hanging around. It's kind of a long shot, but the tech may still be there. He's about 35, skinny, wearing gray pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He has wire rim glasses and short reddish hair. His name is…" Crane paused and looked at the men standing around with raised eyebrows.

"Halliburton, Quincy Halliburton or something like that," Boskins supplied shaking off his surprise at the concise description the man had just given of the missing tech. Crane passed on the name.

"Call us back on this frequency when Mr. Morton gets there. Crane out." He handed the microphone back to the communications man and looked around at the men standing in the control room. No one seemed to be doing much. He looked at Hansen who was staring at the computer with a frown.

"What's next?" Crane asked.

"You just pull its plug, damn it. It's not rocket science for God's sake. It needs power so take its power away." Pritchard, quiet up to now, felt he needed to regain some control of the situation. Michaels had popped up from wherever he had been and was standing behind the older man. _A thin, gangly shadow,_ Crane thought. Everyone, Crane included, ignored Pritchard as if he had not spoken. Hansen sighed.

"I have the schematics in the captain's cabin for most of the systems. We can start tracing relays. There's got to be some way to get the thing to let go of the systems."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll help any way I can. I have a lot of experience. "

"I've heard some of the stories about _Seaview_, sir. I'm sure you can help." He started back toward the cabin. "Liggen, you and Boyd keep an eye on things here. The rest of you come on. We'll get together in the mess hall."

"Hey, this is my submarine. Someone might want to ask me what I think," Pritchard turned to him and looked at him in consideration.

"Are you an electrical engineer, computer programmer, or have you had any experience dealing with the power supply systems of a submarine?"

'No, of course not, but…"

"Then, quite frankly, you would be in the way. I suggest you take a seat and don't touch anything. When and if we get this thing figured out then you can be in command. Right now I am." He and the rest of the men headed out the rear hatch. Only the radio operator, the men at the helm and planes, and another man who went and sat at the sonar station remained behind. As Hansen headed out he spoke to the men at the helm. "If control returns get us to the surface and heave to. Don't wait for us."

"Crane, he can't talk to me that way, can he? You take over. I'm telling you as the owner of this ship."

Crane was shaking his head before Pritchard ever finished. "Mr. Hansen is the captain of this vessel, a vessel in an emergency situation. That means his word is final. I wouldn't think of contravening his authority. And she's a boat. Not a ship. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I might be of help." He followed the rest of the men, leaving a steaming Pritchard to slam his fist into the rail around the periscope island, and grumble to Michaels about getting everyone concerned fired from their positions.

Chapter 8-

Sharkey was just coming out of the radio room when Bobby O'Brien came through the aft hatch. He immediately noticed the look on the chief's face.

"What's up, Chief?" O'Brien asked.

"It's the skipper, Mr. O'Brien. He's on that other boat, the _Tantalus_. The computer has control of all the systems, and has taken them out to sea. They can't get it to disengage. We got a call out to Mr. Morton and the admiral." Sharkey explained everything that they knew without pausing for breath.

O'Brien shook his head in disbelief; the skipper could find trouble anywhere. He thought for a moment.

"What's its heading?"

"The skipper said they were on 125 degrees, 200 feet, and ¾ speed." O'Brien went to the chart table and began working up the course the other sub was on. He drew in the line, and then stood up, alarmed at what he was seeing.

"Did the skipper say if the computer could maneuver around things?" he asked Sharkey. The chief frowned.

"No, he said it was running the boat that was all. I assume that means everything including navigation and maneuvering. Why?" O'Brien indicated the map.

"On that heading they are going straight toward this area of seamounts. Most of them top out at just under 150 feet from the surface." Sharkey's face paled at the thought.

"So if that thing don't maneuver around them they'll just crash right into them at ¾ speed? How long do they got?"

"Well, I don't know their exact speed, but I would say anywhere from two to three hours."

"We gotta do something; what if they can't disengage that thing? Maybe we should go after them. We can catch up, can't we? The _Seaview_'s fast. " O'Brien shrugged.

"Like I said, I don't know what she's got. We might not be able to catch them even at flank."

"Should we call the crew back? Most of them are in town. We could have enough to sail with in 30 to 45 minutes?"

"Not my decision, Chief. We'll have to wait for the admiral and Mr. Morton it will be their decision what to do, but let's go ahead and round up the crew. I'm not sure it will do any good; they have too much of a head start and the seamounts are too close. Anyway, if I know the skipper he'll figure out a way to get control back. It's not like he doesn't have experience with that kinda thing."

"Yeah, but usually he's got us around to help him. Who knows what kinda guys are on the _Tantalus_."

"What about the _Tantalus_?" demanded a voice from the main hatch. The two men turned to see Chip Morton jump down from the ladder. Nelson was climbing down behind him. O'Brien shot a quick look at Sharkey, and stepped forward.

"We got a call from the skipper. He said the computer has somehow taken over all the controls. They are outside the bay on a heading of 125, making ¾ speed at 200 ft. He said that they couldn't get it to disengage. We don't know if the computer is navigating or just set on a course. I tried to extrapolate their course, and they are headed straight to toward some seamounts."

"Let me guess," Nelson said, "The seamounts are shallower than 200 ft?"

"150 on most of them, sir."

"That's just dandy!" Chip growled, and started back toward the radio room after taking a quick glance at the chart. Nelson also took a look at the chart and then studied the figures O'Brien had left there about how long it would take the boat to reach the hazard. He almost instinctively performed the formulas in his head, and knew that _Seaview_ would not be able to catch the other boat in time, even if they had the crew aboard now and could leave immediately. He headed toward the radio shack where Morton had taken up the microphone. As he passed Sharkey he gave a few quiet orders, and Sharkey nodded in understanding.

"_Tantalus_, this is _Seaview_. I need to speak with Commander Crane, this is Lt Commander Morton."

"_Seaview_, stand by. We're locating Commander Crane now." Came the reply. There was tension but cool professionalism in the voice that replied; Chip felt marginally better than Lee had some backup he could count on. Morton exchanged glances with Nelson while they waited. He could see the same concern he felt in the older man's eyes. Things were never simple with Crane, but then again they were never dull.

"Crane here; go ahead, _Seaview_."

"Lee, it's me. The admiral is here too. What the hell is going on?" There was a sort of laugh from the speaker.

"Just my usual experience with computerized control systems. The technician programmed the machine to take over all the systems. He went ashore just before we sailed. We've been trying to get the computer to disengage but none of the codes work, and so far we haven't been able to get at the power hookups. There's a rather nasty looking device on the only exposed area, and I don't think I want to take the chance of messing with it."

"What about cutting the power to that section?"

"It's possible that cutting power might just set of the device, and then who knows what might happen. It's chancy either way. The schematics that the company provided are all incorrect. In fact I think they may be for an ATM machine. I think our only chance is to hack it."

"What have you tried?"

"All the general computer keystrokes. A few tricks that you've shown me for ending programs, a few others that I learned elsewhere." Chip knew he was referring to the training that ONI had given him for hacking into systems.

"Well, let's try a few things. Can you get to the panel and still hear me, or is there a microphone there?" There was a silence, and then Crane's voice came again.

"They have a microphone built into the panel. Very convenient, at least _it_ works. Ok, Chip, do your thing, remember, I've bragged about you to these guys, so you better come through." Before Morton could start, Nelson indicated he wanted to speak to Crane. Morton handed him the microphone.

"Lee, it's Nelson. Have you looked at your course?"

"You mean that little seamount problem? Yeah. I'm figuring about an hour and forty-five minutes at our current speed. We don't know if it's been programmed to take us around or not, but I have a feeling that while it _can_ maneuver, it isn't going to. There's been too much effort at keeping us from disconnecting the thing, or making any kind of change. It also didn't seem to care if the main hatch was open when we dove either. I think that whoever is doing this means to destroy this vessel and make it look like an accident due to mechanical failure or something like that. If you think about it, it's perfect. I think the computer was supposed to take out the communications as well, but the operator says they've been running it on the back up circuit looking for a fault, and so we at least have communications." There was a pause then Crane continued,

"I'm not sure if they meant the crew to survive or not. An experienced crew could escape at this depth without much problem, though not at this speed. They would have to wait until the boat ran aground and then get out, so there is some chance of injury from the collision, but it is possible. The problem there is that there are only enough emergency breathers for twenty, and there are 25 of us on board. Plus while this hull material is supposed to be comparable to the steel and titanium ones, I'm not that sure of the effect of a collision at this speed. For all we know it could cause the escape hatch to become useless, and then we are all stuck here." There was an undefined squawking sound from the radio which the listeners finally identified as someone talking loudly in the background. The transmission cut off abruptly. Then there was a click as the other boat started broadcasting again.

"This is Pritchard. That you, Nelson?" Nelson grimaced to himself. He had never cared for Pritchard to begin with, and now that the man had tried to hire Lee away he was even further down on his list of favorite people. He shook off his dislike and answered blandly.

"Hello, Pritchard. We don't have much time to chat. It would be in your best interest to let me speak to Commander Crane again, so we can try to get your computer to release control of the boat."

"Always rushing to the rescue huh, Nelson? Always the white knight on the charger. Well we don't need your help. We'll get this taken care of at this end. Crane had no authority to contact you in the first place. You just take care of your business, and I'll take care of mine," Pritchard said with a snarl.

"It became _my_ business when you tried to hijack my captain, Pritchard, and since you have him on board, and he is in danger, that means this is my business too. Now if you could put your ego back in its box, maybe we can see about saving that expensive toy of yours," Nelson ground out, his temper rising. The previous meetings between the two men had ended in yelling matches. The fact that Nelson had won on every occasion did not make this any easier.

"Nelson, you can take it and stick it…" there was a strangled squawk. Then another voice came over the speaker.

"This is Acting Captain Hansen of the _Tantalus_. I'm sorry for that bit of interference, _Seaview_, we got it worked out. I'll turn you back over to Commander Crane so you can get working on the computer." There was more squawking going on in the background, but Hansen just seemed to be ignoring it. Nelson saw Morton smiling, and had to smother the urge to grin himself.

"I… understand, _Tantalus_. Here's Mr. Morton." Nelson moved out so that Morton could move back in to the radio. He hoped this would work, but he had other plans to work on just in case. Thirty minutes later Morton joined him at the chart table shaking his head.

"It's no good, Admiral. I've tried everything I know to get it to disengage, but it refuses to take any commands. We're going to have to try something else; I'm just not sure what that is." The XO's blue eyes were worried. He knew that if it came down to evacuating the sub via the emergency escape hatch, Crane would not be among those going. He just wasn't built that way. That was if the crew survived the collision with the seamount. He was not familiar with the metal ceramic blend, but he kept envisioning a piece of tile being dropped on the floor, and shattering into a million pieces. Only this 'tile' was going to take his best friend with it when it shattered. Nelson nodded his head.

"I was afraid of that. I have another plan though. I can be out to the _Tantalus_' position in about 25 minutes. What I propose is taking the EMF gun and using it on the submarine. It will disrupt all of the electrical systems, and knock the computer and the reactor off line. It will even effect any electrical device in that little device on the power inputs. If it's done in the right place, they'll be shallow enough for the escape hatch to be used." Morton knew that Nelson had been working on the EMF, Electromagnetic flux gun, for several months now. It simulated the EMF burst from a nuclear weapon detonation and basically turned off any electrical systems that it hit.

"You don't think that the _Tantalus_ will have hardened systems like _Seaview_?" Hardening the important systems was standard practice on military vessels; this process protected the systems to a greater degree than the regular types of electrical installations. Even if the electrical systems were still affected, it would be quicker to bring them back up. And if distant enough from the detonation, they might even be able to withstand the pulse altogether. Nelson shook his head.

"I can't see them going to that length in a civilian vessel. Knowing Pritchard, it is all flashy looks and lowest bidder. Even if it is hardened, if I get close enough it will still disrupt the systems and solve the current problem. Of course that will bring other problems…" he trailed off, and Morton knew he was thinking about the shortage of breathers and the fact that Lee would be left on a dead submarine with no air and no way of getting out until the _Seaview_ could get there with scuba gear to take them off. There should be plenty of air for a few hours even with the environmental controls offline, but still it would be dark and cold, not a situation a submariner longed to be in.

"Lee will make it, Admiral. It's better than waiting for _Tantalus_ to collide with a seamount and chance a fatal breach of the hull, or warping the escape hatch and trapping them all there. This way we get there in a few hours and get him off. Bobby put out the recall to the crew while I was talking when Lee reported in and over half are back already. We can sail within fifteen minutes." He leaned back against the chart table. "I take it you don't think you can hook up hatch to hatch?" The FS1 had a standard hatch size that made it compatible with almost any submarine.

"They won't have any control after I use the gun. Their ballast tanks should be enough to ensure that they land keel down, but there's no telling what angle they'll land at. It would be pure chance if we can maneuver in to hook up, not that we won't try. I'll take Sharkey with me. He was there for the tests on the EMF gun and he's good with the FS1."

Morton would have liked to go but he knew that one of the senior officers had to remain aboard. He nodded and turned to the chart table to look at the area between the _Tantalus_' current position and the seamounts.

"Where do you propose to drop them?" he asked, and Nelson bent to indicate a flat area on the chart. They both felt better knowing that there was a plan in the offing.

Chapter 9-

Pritchard sat in the chair in front of the inactive environmental systems panel. His face was finally losing the red color that had flooded it when Hansen had taken the microphone out of his hand and shoved him back into the arms of several of the crew who had led him to the chair and sat him down. He had yelled, cursed, and threatened but they had not let him up. He had been forced to sit there fuming in silence as the men tried to work through the programming. After 30 minutes of trying a series of code entries the results were still the same. They were still on a collision course for the seamounts with little hope of the program cutting out on its own before they hit. Michaels had taken a chair further down the control panels and was writing something in a notebook.

Pritchard had spent the time considering his options. Obviously, he wasn't to be allowed control of his own boat. Hansen had informed him in no uncertain terms that as acting captain he, Hansen, had the final say on anything that affected the boat. While Pritchard's input would be listened to, he was not going to be allowed to overrule the chain of command. Since he had little or no technical knowledge, he really couldn't argue that fact, but it angered him to be seen in a helpless light in front of these men. He never was helpless. He was always the one with the power, the knowledge, and the contacts. While he didn't care what these people thought about him, he did care about what they would report if they survived. He needed to be seen in the most heroic light possible, anything else was unacceptable.

There had to be some spin that he could put on this that would be to his benefit. It had become obvious that Crane was not the man, nor made of the material, that he wanted. Oh, he seemed knowledgeable enough, and had gained the loyalty of the work crew quickly, but he was in no way malleable enough to be the employee that Pritchard required. He couldn't have his top men questioning his orders. Did Crane questioned Nelson? If they were such friends, he doubted it. He wouldn't take it from his subordinants, and he couldn't see Nelson allowing it either.

He turned his mind to whom could have done this. Who hated him enough to go to this much trouble? The list was long and varied as to whom, but the level of access to do it was limited. He considered the computer company that had installed the system. They had gone through a hostile take over two months after the system was ordered. He had paid little attention as the new parent company had assured all customers that orders would be processed on the same time schedule as before. His people had done the regular security checks on everyone working on the submarine, but obviously that hadn't done much good. If the schematics were completely incorrect then it looked as if the technician, and possibly the installers, were all in the employ of whoever had it out for his new submarine. He was sure that this was a personal attack against him. There had to be some way to narrow the field, to place the blame where it belonged…His train of thought was broken as the man working the radio suddenly sat up straight, and put his hand to the headphones he was wearing. He listened for a few seconds, and then began flipping switches.

"Mr. Hansen!" he yelled toward the group of men who were conferring over the charts at the other end of the control room. Several heads turned at his urgent call, and he motioned for Hansen to come. Hansen, Crane and two other men came back. The radio operator pulled off the headphones and spoke excitedly, "We're getting a transmission; he says he's the one that did this to the sub. Sounds like some kind of recording saying that everyone should listen in on what's coming next." The operator waved at the computer and then flipped several switches.

"Put it on the speaker," Hansen said. The operator flipped another switch and the speaker came to life.

"This is Mitchell Hargrove. This message is for the crew of the _Tantalus_. I want to apologize to you. Please be assured that I hold no antipathy to you and am sorry that you will have to die along with the boat. I have been told that Pritchard is there, hopefully listening. He is the one I want to suffer! The one I want to die! If I could have, I would have let you all off, but he wouldn't have gone without you, and would leave if you leave. He has to die." The voice was calm, and a hint of sadness could be heard as the apology was given. "He allowed my company to be stolen from me, and he destroyed everything I had worked for, everything I had to give my wife, my kids, and my employees. Some of them had worked for the company for twenty years, and now they have nothing. He could have stopped it. I _begged_ him to stop it. He saw only the bottom line, only the money. 'It's not profitable enough.' That was his answer! And he goes and throws his money into building this submarine so he can rape the seas like he's raped every other thing he's ever touched. Well now he's going to reap the rewards of his greed. He's going to die knowing that his money has been wasted."

"I am sure you know by now what is going on, that you are headed for the seamounts and cannot regain control. Please don't waste your remaining time trying to disengage the computer. I have arranged that once the program takes over that it cannot be disengaged. And I'm sure you've found my little insurance policy on the power supply. There is literally no way to turn it off. I wanted to be sure that it would do what I wanted, and it will. You should have a little more than an hour left. I'm sure that Pritchard doesn't care if _you_ are going to die or not. I care, but I had to sacrifice you to get him. That is my sin, and I will suffer for it. Not that it is much comfort to you, I'm sure. I hope that at least it will be quick. As you are receiving this message your speed should be picking up, going to full, or flank or whatever the terminology is. Those who helped me do this say that when you hit the seamount at that speed, the hull plates will shatter, and the boat will be flooded rapidly. I have always heard that drowning is one of the more peaceful ways to die. I hope they are right, again my apologies.

"Pritchard, I know you are listening. I hope you rot in hell. Hargrove out." As the transmission ended all eyes in the control room turned to Pritchard who had sat silently listening. His face had taken on a red, flushed look, and he stared defiantly back at the men.

"What?" he snapped. "The man wanted me to buy a nearly bankrupt company to save it from a hostile takeover. You can't blame me for protecting _my_ business, _my_ employees. If he was so concerned about his family and his employees he should have been a better businessman, made the hard decisions, as I do. More than one person has wanted me to buy a nearly bankrupt company to save it from a hostile takeover. If I did what they wanted, I'd be bankrupt myself. You can't hold me responsible because some idiot snapped under his own guilt and blames me for it. You're so sure that you know what to do, so quit standing around gawking at me and do it." Hansen stared at him for a few moments more, then shooed the small crowd out of the room; that left Hansen, Crane, Boskins, and the radio operator in addition to Pritchard. Hansen turned to Crane.

"Well, Commander. If you can't disengage it, and that man Hargrove says that it is not going to disengage no matter what we do, what do you suggest? I'm out of ideas." Crane looked over his shoulder at Hansen from where he stood near the propulsion panel. He nodded toward the speed indicator.

"He didn't lie about the speed increase, and nothing I did caused so much as a hiccup in the computer so I have no reason to believe he's lying about the rest. I think we need to get in touch with _Seaview_ again. Admiral Nelson may have some more ideas." Pritchard stood up and charged forward to stand in front of Crane.

"Can't you take a step without asking that man first? I thought Nelson had a captain, not some puppet that couldn't work without Nelson pulling his strings!" He stopped his tirade when he met the cold golden eyes of the man who stood in front of him. The cool eyes looked into his for a moment, and he knew that the younger man had seen every dark part of what remained of his soul. The man didn't even acknowledge that he had heard a word, his eyes simply moved past him, and Pritchard knew that after years of being toadied to, catered to, and if not respected, at least feared, by everyone he came in contact with, he had just been completely dismissed. Crane stepped around him and headed toward the radio as if he didn't exist. Pritchard, hardly believing what had just happened, turned to see Hansen and Boskins sharing a grin, and his face grew even redder. Michaels had lowered his head and was studiously studying the deck at his feet, but Pritchard didn't even fool himself that the man wasn't smirking. The radio operator, also with a huge grin, had already contacted _Seaview_. He handed the microphone to Crane, and nodded.

"_Seaview_ this is Crane. We have an update on the situation."

"We're here, Lee." Morton's voice held tension.

"We just got a transmission from the man responsible for this situation. He's out to destroy the submarine and Pritchard. We'll send you a recording of the transmission. He's really sorry about the rest of us though."

"Gee, that's great that he's sorry," Morton said sarcastically. "Any other ideas on that end?"

"Nothing here. As an extra bonus we've gone to flank speed. How about you? Does the admiral have any ideas?"

"Yes, he does. He's on his way in the FS1. He has the EMF gun. He's planning on using it to stop you. If he does it right, the twenty men can use the escape hatch and be picked up by the Coast Guard on the surface. The rest we'll take off when we arrive. Nelson should be there in about ten minutes."

"You've sailed already? Do you have enough crew?" Crane asked, concern evident in his tone.

Morton sighed dramatically.

"We have ¾ strength, Lee. Bobby got on the recall right away. Try to worry about only one submarine at a time, huh?" Crane smiled. Leave it to Chip.

"Where is the admiral planning on dropping us?" He mentally reviewed the chart of the area. There was one sloping area between them and the seamounts, kind of a gently rising plain before the mounts. That seemed the most likely.

"On the wide flat plain right before the rise to the seamounts. He'll be in contact as soon as he's over your position." There was a pause then Morton came back on. "We have you on long range sonar now. We are heading your way at flank speed. We'll be there in 75 minutes." Another pause. "Lee, I don't suppose I could talk you into being one of the people that use the escape hatch? You are a guest on board after all."

"The crew will be drawing straws. That way it'll be fair for everyone." Crane didn't mention that he had already volunteered to stay. Chip would not be happy with him, and he suspected Nelson would be put out as well. He shook off the speculation, and continued on. "I'll talk with Captain Hansen, let him know what the Admiral has planned, and see if he has any objections or ideas. Crane out." He turned to find Hansen and Boskins standing at the chart table, with Pritchard hovering at the side, his face still red and with an angry look in his eyes, but evidently curious as to the fate of his very expensive boat. He joined them at the table and ran his finger along their course. He stopped over the plain, and tapped the chart.

"I imagine it will be here. It would be the easiest on the boat and give us the best chance of keeping the escape hatch clear."

"What's this gun thing your XO spoke of?" Hansen asked.

"The EMF gun is an invention of Admiral Nelson. It will literally short-circuit every electrical system on this sub. The reactor itself won't be affected, but the energy transmission will be, and the failsafe will close down the reactor when it can't output the energy. We'll be in the dark with no air circulation, but it's better than being crushed against a seamount." He looked at the chart again. "The depth is 175 over most of the area. Well within the safe escape depth. I suggest that we have those who are going ready and waiting at the hatch; as soon as we stop moving they should go. That way we save as much air as possible for the rest of us, and there will be less confusion. The Coast Guard should be standing by or will be there soon to pick up the men as they surface. They'll have the emergency rafts if they need to wait."

"We won't have any lights? What about flash lights?" Hansen asked. Crane shook his head.

"The EMF gun will disrupt the charge on them as well. The only thing we could do would be candles of some sort, but then we are using up oxygen. I think I'd rather breathe than see. But some small candles for a short period wouldn't use up too much."

"Then once _Seaview_ gets here they can get the rest of us off quickly?" Hansen asked. He too was planning on staying. Boskins had also volunteered.

"Yes, you heard they should be here in a little over an hour. They can send out divers or hook up with the bell if the hatch is accessible. If we land right, the admiral might even be able to get in with the flying sub and hook up to the hatch, then we wouldn't have to wait that long. He won't be able to come in too quickly because of the residual effect of the gun but once it dissipates, he will be able to check out the hatch orientation." Hansen considered the chart, gnawing on his lower lip.

"I suspect that the old man is gonna have a coronary when I tell him I intentionally wrecked a client's boat, but it sounds like the only way to save our collective butts. This isn't a permanent thing though, right? She can be brought up and made to run again?"

"You shouldn't have any problem. The admiral planned it that way. He was looking for a way to disable an enemy sub without destroying the sub or hurting the crew more than necessary. It just takes some serious degaussing on all the systems. Once she's brought up and the process is done, you should have no problems. I can't guarantee that there won't be any structural damage when we hit, but…" Crane shrugged, indicating that the alternative was much worse. Hansen nodded thoughtfully and then looked around.

"Well, we better figure out who else will be staying and get everyone organized and ready at the escape hatch." He looked at Pritchard and Michaels. "We'll match you gentlemen up with some experienced men who can help you get to the surface. It won't be pleasant, but..." Pritchard interrupted.

"I'm staying here, and so is Michaels." He ignored the startled, and scared, look on the other man's face, and kept talking "This is my submarine, and if I can't have any say in what's going on, I am at least going to stay and document the damage you people are doing to it. I will make sure you all pay for this, dearly. Additionally, I will not be made a spectacle of being pulled out of the ocean like a tuna by the Coast Guard. You go arrange your men and leave me alone." Hansen, Crane, and Boskins exchanged looks and shrugs. Well, at least now they didn't have to draw straws to see who stayed behind. They knew that the rest of the crew would have no problem using the escape hatch and wouldn't mind being rescued by the Coast Guard.

"I'll get everyone organized and see if I can find any candles, just in case. We may need to have some light should there be an emergency," Boskins said. Hansen nodded and the other man left he control room. Hansen caught Crane's eye and nodded his head toward the communications area. With a quick glance at Pritchard, who showed no inclination to move, Crane followed the acting captain. In the relative privacy of the communications shack, they discussed what could happen when the submarine was hit by the EMF rays and waited for the call from the FS1.

Chapter 10-

Nelson brought the FS1 in at the proper angle for a dive as sonar indicated that they had caught up with the _Tantalus_. The incredible yellow submersible plunged into the sea, and started down toward where they would intersect the other sub's course. Nelson handed off control to Sharkey and activated his microphone.

"FS1 to _Tantalus_, do you read?"

"We've got you, FS1. Thanks for dropping by. I understand you came well armed." Crane's voice over the radio held a hint of relief.

"Yes, I think it will do the job. Chip passed on the information about the radio call. He contacted the police back on land to see if they could find this Hargrove."

"Not going to do us much good unless he decides to relent in the next forty minutes. I think we better go with the alternate plan."

"I agree. We're getting in position now. The gun is already calibrated and ready to go. You are approaching the best area in just over five minutes. I'm assuming you are ready with the men that will be using the escape hatch?" Nelson paused and then continued in a more personal tone. "Lee, it's going to be a rough ride. Take care of yourself." He could almost see Crane's best cocky smile as he answered,

"Well, it's not something every submariner can claim, you know, riding a disabled submarine down and surviving it. I'll be fine, Admiral."

"Yes, I've heard you tell Jaime that when you've got more blood out than in, so you'll forgive me if I worry a little."

"Really, Admiral," came Crane's earnest reply. "I'll be fine. We've already got the men who will be using the escape hatch ready to go. They are braced and ready at the hatch with a small candle to light the process. The rest of us will be moving into the compartment after they are all out. We'll be waiting for you when you can take us off. Knock three times on the hatch so we know it's you, huh? Those door to door salespeople can be aggressive." Ignoring the last bit of humor, Nelson focused on what Crane hadn't said outright.

"You're staying on board? How were the men who would be leaving selected?" He kept one eye on the clock, and waited for his captain to explain how he had ended up with a short straw.

"We didn't need to worry about selection, Admiral. Everyone who is staying volunteered; it will be Captain Hansen, Mr. Boskins, Mr. Pritchard, his secretary Mr. Michaels, and me."

Nelson was somewhat surprised that Pritchard had volunteered to stay. He didn't seem like the adventurous type, and he definitely wasn't a submariner who had decided to 'go down with his boat.' That Lee had volunteered was an unfortunate given.

"I thought you would have learned about volunteering by now," he said snidely.

"That's the Army, sir. _They_ say never volunteer for anything," Crane quipped back. Nelson exchanged smiles with Sharkey who had been listening in as he steered the small craft into position. Nelson studied the dials before him and rose to go to the controls of the EMF gun, now mounted beneath the FS1.

"Get ready, Lee. 45 seconds." Crane had left the mike open, and Nelson could hear the orders going out on the _Tantalus_ for everyone to brace for impact. Flipping several switches and targeting the weapon in on the rapidly approaching sub, Nelson held his finger over the trigger. "Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, firing." There was a sound as the gun fired, and Nelson knew that the FS1's powerful reactor had just spiked its power curve as a concentrated beam of EMF radiation flooded over the _Tantalus_. He hurried back to his seat, anxious to see what was happening through the view screen. Sharkey, while making sure they were clear of the other craft's course, was listening to the sonar.

"Their props have stopped, Admiral; they are just coasting now and their depth is already increasing. We've lost radio contact."

Nelson nodded, knowing that the radio was one of the first systems affected by the blast. He watched as the submarine passed to their starboard side, heading on an ever-increasing bow down angle for the bottom, less than 25 meters below. The depth to the bottom was a mixed blessing he knew. It was good that it would stop the boat's descent quickly before the angle could increase. That way she would hit on her reinforced keel rather than on her nose; but, on the other hand, they would not get a chance to lose much of their forward momentum and it was going to be a rough landing. Years of experience on _Seaview_ had shown him that you could only hold on so tightly and for so long and then you became like a lotto ball bouncing around in a tumbler. The FS1 glided behind the disabled ship, staying at a safe distance. It was only moments before Sharkey suddenly called out,

"They're gonna hit!" He jerked the headphones off, not wanting to be deafened by the sound. Even without the hydrophones, they could hear the sound of the boat hitting bottom carried to them through the water. It was an odd, distorted roaring which seemed to go on forever. Nelson could just imagine what it felt and sounded like to those inside the submarine.

Huge billows of sediment clouded the window, and Nelson knew they would have to wait while the water cleared and the EMF diffused from the hull of the boat. It would not be easy waiting, especially since they would be unable to make contact with the _Tantalus_ until they either hooked up or the _Seaview_ arrived and they could send in divers. Since the boat was partially made of ceramic, the diffusion curve should be faster. Nelson tried to sublimate his worry by figuring out how much sooner they could move in. It didn't help.

Chapter 11-

The passageway next to the compartment that housed the escape hatch was relatively narrow. A man, sitting down, could brace his back against one bulkhead and have his feet pressed against the opposite one without stretching. This was exactly how they had decided to have the crew ride it out. They had lined up down the passageway. The five men who would be remaining were at the end of the passageway next to the ladder leading down to the main deck. Crane and Michaels were closest to the end. Michaels was next to the ladder, his short stature would not allow him to brace himself easily and Crane had thought that the shorter man would be able get additional bracing using the handrails. Crane had seated himself next to Michaels so that he could help if necessary.

Pritchard was extremely put out to find himself sandwiched between Hansen and Boskins. There had been some discussion among the younger men - a discussion in which he was not allowed input - and they had decided that, while he would be able to brace himself, it would be best if the other two men were on either side of him to allow for additional security. It had added another shade of red to his face, and increased his determination to have all these men sacked as soon as possible. They had rushed here from the control room to find the others already waiting and Nelson's voice booming over the intercom. Crane had asked that it remain open so they could hear the countdown.

As Nelson said 'fire', the intercom suddenly gave a loud snap and the lights went out. In complete darkness, in the silence that was left as the boat shut down, they could hear the propeller stop turning. The boat seemed to groan, and the deck tilted toward the nose. Hansen's voice came from the darkness.

"We're headed down. The bottom was 25 to 30 meters below us when we lost propulsion. We should hit in a minute or two. Everyone brace yourself. As soon as we stop moving the first man should move into the escape hatch. Do you have the candle?"

"Yes, sir. I'm ready to light it as soon as we stop. We'll hand it off to the next man till we're all out and then give it to one of you." Moments later the boat struck the bottom. The next several minutes were like something from a horrible carnival ride. Everything was chaos. The boat bucked and rolled. Crane forced his feet against the opposite bulkhead and listened to the swearing and yelling coming from the others as they tried to stay stationary in the gyrating boat. The darkness added an unforeseen sense of impending disaster to the situation for Crane. At least on the _Seaview_ when they had to deal with turbulence they had light, emergency lights if nothing else.

As the boat seemed to corkscrew, Crane heard a grunt, then a wail of despair from the man at his right. Michaels must have lost hold! Crane pushed harder with his feet to brace himself and reached out a hand in the darkness. He flailed around for what seemed like minutes then caught hold of an arm. Michaels was completely adrift, not braced against anything. As the boat swung back the other way, the full weight of the man pulled at Crane's arm. He gritted his teeth against the pain as his arm felt like it was being pulled from its socket. The boat bucked as it hit some obstruction on the sea floor, and they were all thrown to the side as the bow came up. Crane felt Michaels' body sliding aft and knew that he had to keep hold. The man was sliding toward the ladder well. He yelled to Michaels to grab the handrail, but didn't know if he could be heard above the continual roar around them. Suddenly it felt as if his arm was wrenched from its socket as he took the full weight of Michaels' body. The man must have fallen down the well. Crane groaned as he concentrated on keeping his grip and holding his own position against the pull of the other man and gravity. He felt something tear in his shoulder and he bit his lip to keep from screaming at the pain. It seemed like the boat hung there - bow up at an almost 45 degree angle- forever as Crane fought to hold on. He could feel the brush of Boskin's body as the man slid toward him on the deck and almost made him lose his hard won grip on Michaels.

Finally, after what felt like least a thousand years, the bow slammed downward, slinging Michaels back up on the deck and into Crane. His arm, already in agony, seemed to take on another level of pain. The boat gave one last shudder before everything was still. They all sat for a few moments, shocked by what had gone before, almost unable to comprehend the stillness, the silence. The deck was tilted at about a 25-degree angle to port. Then, softly, there was the scratch of a match and a light flared at the far end of the passage. The first man had lit the candle. In what had been total darkness, the small candle seemed like a beacon of light.

Crane convinced his fingers to release his burden and eased his feet away from the wall. The other men were also relaxing with groans and moans of relief. Crane watched as the first of the men moved into the compartment with the escape hatch and a line formed as the men pulled themselves to their feet. There was a low level of talking, but everyone seemed to be calm. Hansen had worked his way to his feet and was watching as the line formed. He absently offered a hand to Boskins who grabbed it and rose to his feet, groaning.

"Let's not do that again," he said pleadingly.

Crane smiled slightly and turned to look at Michaels who was lying flat out on the deck by his side, panting heavily, his eyes closed. He didn't seem to be injured, but they would have to deal with it later if he was. With a quick glance around to be sure that no one was looking his way, Crane very gently reached with his left hand to lift his right arm and pull it close to his chest. His shoulder screamed in agony. He was pretty sure that it was dislocated, but there wasn't anything to be done about it now. He opened one of the lower buttons on his shirt and slipped his hand gingerly inside. That would give his arm some support until Jaime could take care of it when _Seaview_ caught up with them. Given the tilt of the deck, the FS1 was not going to be able to maneuver in.

Crane heard the first men exit the escape hatch. The line shuffled forward several feet. He decided it was time to get to his feet himself since only he, Pritchard, and Michaels were still on the deck. He turned around so that he could use the pitch of the deck to help him up, thus not having to use his arms. He found his awkward footing and looked down at Michaels. "Are you okay?" he asked

Michaels opened his eyes and looked groggily around. He seemed dazed, but he nodded his head. He didn't try to speak, and he quickly closed his eyes again. Crane turned to find himself almost face to face with Pritchard. The older man was looking slightly the worse for wear with his hair mussed and suit wrinkled. He gave Crane an ugly glare.

"You and Nelson have succeeded in sinking my boat, Mister Crane. I hope you are happy now," he growled.

"Happier then you would have been if we had allowed her to plow into a seamount at full speed. It would have made this experience look like a kiddy ride at a traveling carnival," Crane said calmly, meeting the glare with detachment. "You might want to work on the gratitude thing. If ADMIRAL Nelson" - he emphasized the title - "hadn't created the EMF gun and thought to use it, if he hadn't invented the flying submarine and used to get here in time, and if he cared that the man who owned the boat didn't like him and kept trying to ruin everything that the admiral worked to preserve his whole life, then you really would have been sorry. We all would have." He shoved past the older man and went toward the hatchway to the escape hatch compartment. The line was diminished by half now. He heard Pritchard griping at his unmoving aide as he moved up next to Hansen who was looking over his shoulder at them and grinning.

"You know, Commander, I don't think you got a lot of chances for a job anymore," Hansen said.

Crane snorted.

"I have the job I want." He wiped his good hand across his forehead. Without the cooling system it was already stuffy and the heat was beginning to rise here in the corridor due to the body heat from the 25 men. He knew that in other parts of the boat it would be cooler, as the heat from the sub would be wicked away by the cold waters that flowed around them. He watched as the last of the line disappeared into the chamber. Hansen stepped forward into the hatchway. Boskins had moved off down the corridor, taking a second candle for light. Hansen disappeared into the compartment and Crane stood in the darkness, with only the light of the candle through the hatch casting a faint light. He could hear Pritchard and Michaels talking in low tones at the other end of the corridor but couldn't make out any words.

_Things seem to be going along pretty well,_ he thought, and instantly bit his mental lip. He looked around. No rivets seemed to be popping out of the bulkhead, no water dripped from the overhead, no seaweed creatures seemed to be shuffling down the corridor to attack. Maybe the gods that took such pleasure in throwing him into one situation or another had enough for the day. He was going in to confer with Hansen when he caught sight of a light moving rapidly toward him down the corridor. Boskins appeared out of the darkness, looking somewhat ridiculous clutching the small birthday candle in the shape of a number four. Crane smiled slightly, but the smile died quickly when he saw the look on Boskin's face. _UH-OH._

"We got a large problem, Commander," Boskins said as he came to a stop before Crane.

Hansen, who had evidently heard Boskins, joined them in the hatchway, his candle adding to the light.

"And being on the bottom, in the dark, with no oxygen is what?" Boskins flashed a grin at him but then became serious again.

"Hate to be the bearer of more bad news, but we've breached at least one hull plate. It's not a big gash but it's big enough. The forward section of this compartment we happen to be in is already awash. I got the door shut but it's not rated watertight." He waved toward the bow. "I figure we have about 15 minutes before we get very, very wet."

"Lovely. So it's going to be a race between us suffocating and getting slightly more than our feet wet. Commander, I hope you aren't thinking badly of our hospitality," Hansen said with dark humor.

Crane smiled, and shook his head.

"Talk about showing someone a good time. You don't have another watertight hatch in this section?" he asked. Hansen shook his head.

"They cut some serious safety corners when they went for this more open floor plan. They were trying to make it less like a submarine, and so they made the watertight compartments larger, taking in more sections. We happen to be in the rear-forward port section, and what you see is what we got. I gotta tell you, Commander, I'm open to ideas."

Crane leaned back against the bulkhead and wiped his left hand over his forehead. The throbbing pain in his right shoulder had mostly faded as he kept it immobile, but sharp pains were shooting through intermittently. He tried to think of some solution. The _Seaview_ was coming. They should be there in 45 minutes or less. He knew that Chip would have the divers ready to go as soon as the situation could be assessed. They would be able to maneuver in closely, so there should be little delay in the divers getting to them, but that still left them with a thirty-minute deficit. There was no way that he could think of to stay here by the escape hatch. He closed his eyes and tried to visualize the submarine from his tour. The only place that could conceivably work was the conning tower. The divers could access it through the top hatch, close that one, and then open the hatch to the control room. It would be wet and would partially flood the fancy control room, but it was better than the alternative. He looked at Hansen, and then Boskins.

"We'll have to use the conning tower. It's the only other place with double hatches that won't be covered in sand or pressed against the bottom. The divers can enter through the top hatch, close it, and open the inner hatch. Then we reverse the process getting out."

"Gonna make a mess of the control room," Boskins said. "We'll have to rewire half the consoles." He didn't seem too put out about it but then, it wasn't _his_ submarine. Pritchard, who had been hovering at the edge of the circle of light created by the candles, however reacted in the predictable fashion.

"More destruction, Crane?" he bellowed. "What are you, some kind of industrial spy for Nelson? Out to destroy my submarine? First you run it into the ground then you want to flood what's left!"

"It wasn't his fault that YOU made an enemy, Mr. Pritchard, that got us into this mess and if we survive this at all it's due to his friends coming to our rescue. Maybe you should save the blame for someone who deserves it," Hansen said, moving in between the advancing man and Crane. He might only be the acting captain of this sunken boat, but he wasn't going to let some pompous, stuffed shirt berate one of his provisional crew, especially one who had the friends to get them out of there. He met the older man glare for glare in the dim light of the candles, and was satisfied when the older man was the first to look away, grumbling under his breath. No doubt more threats about his future with the shipyard. Hansen allowed himself a small smile. He would just love to be a fly on the wall when Pritchard contacted the old man about firing him. His father-in-law hadn't made any bones about being very fond of the man who was his yard foreman and father of his two adored grandsons.

Hansen turned back to the amused eyes of Crane and Boskins; he gave them a mock glare.

"No insubordination will be tolerated from the crew either," he muttered. He looked at Crane "What about your divers? How will they know where to come? If they come to the hatch and it's flooded out, will they just assume we are at the conning tower?" Crane shook his head.

"They would probably get there, but I think we should send a message out and let them know where we'll be."

"Smoke signals? " suggested Boskins, frivolously. Crane shrugged.

"Maybe something a little more effective."

"We don't have any power for the radio, how do we get a message out?" Hansen questioned.

"Code. We pound it on the hull. All my crew knows Morse code, the Admiral also, of course. They'll pick it up on the hydrophone and send the dive team to the conning tower first."

"Think we need much of an explanation?" Hansen asked Crane shook his head.

"I think we can do it with three words."

"How will we know it got through?"

"We wait until someone comes knocking. We should have enough air to wait it out. It might not be comfortable, but it shouldn't be too bad." Hansen nodded.

"Sounds good. Can't say I have anything better in mind. Might as well get moving. Maybe we can pick up some blankets as we go. I got a feeling it's going to be a bit chilly. I'll go first. Boskins, you bring up the rear; that way we'll have enough light." He headed aft. The rest followed, leaving the corridor to the darkness and the cold waters to come.

Chapter 12-

Nelson, having taken back the controls of the flying sub from Sharkey, brought the small craft closer to the submarine now sitting on the bottom. Once the _Tantalus_ had stopped moving - and knowing that they would not be able to do anything until the sediments settled - he had Sharkey wait until the first of the escapees became visible and then followed them up at a safe distance. Once on the surface the men deployed out three life rafts Nelson waited long enough to be sure that the men had all surfaced. A quick conference with several of the men had assured Nelson that the boat had landed in relatively good shape, but at an angle. No injuries had been reported before they left the boat. They wouldn't know until they got down if it would be feasible for the flying submarine to hook up with her or not.

Nelson was pleased to see that the water remained only a little murky now, the currents having carried off much of the lighter sediment and the heavier having fallen back to the sea floor around the submarine. They could see that the boat had landed in a swale, nose down, and canted over almost 25 degrees. The escape hatch was clear, but they could easily see that the access hatches in the keel of the boat were all useless. It quickly became evident to Nelson's experienced eye that they would not be able to maneuver into position to allow a hook up between them. They would have to wait. The admiral growled under his breath in frustration. He had some thought of going out himself and bringing the men back one at a time, but with inexperienced divers, and with five men to move, it would take just as long to do that as to wait and let an experienced dive team take them all off at once.

The chief shot him an understanding grin and adjusted the sonar headphones on his head. He understood the admiral's frustration. He wanted to get the skipper off that boat too. It had to be pretty miserable, locked in the dark and cold of a dead boat. No true submariner was claustrophobic, but that kind of situation could certainly bring on an uncomfortable feeling. Sharkey's mind automatically cataloged the sounds he was picking up over the hydrophone. Nothing of any import right now, but… He put one hand to his left earphone and reached out to adjust the gain. What was that? It wasn't a natural sound, that was for sure. He fiddled with the dials a little more and suddenly sat up straight in his chair. That was code! He reached into a pocket on the side of his chair and yanked out the clipboard that was there. He found a pencil there too, and hastily started putting down letters. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that his activity had gotten Nelson's attention. He noticed in the back of his mind that they were now in a sort of hover mode over the wrecked boat. He kept writing down letters until he recognized that the sequence had started to repeat. He tore off the headphones and held out the clipboard to Nelson.

"It's code, sir; it has to be a message from the skipper. He's tapping on the hull with something."

Nelson looked down at the letters Sharkey had written. It took a moment for him to parse out the words from the letters, but soon he could easily read the message; what he read gave him a sinking feeling in his stomach. Flooding. Conning. Tower. Only three words, but they could spell disaster for his friend.

"What do you think it means, sir?" Sharkey asked, craning his head to see the letters himself, and try to make some sense of them. Nelson looked up at him with serious eyes, and Sharkey felt something cold with lots of feet crawl down his spine. Whatever it was, it wasn't good. Nelson handed him the clipboard back and leaned forward to touch a button on the instrument panel. Sharkey heard the single ping that seemed to echo around them. He knew that Nelson had just let Crane know that the message had been received. The ping would have been easily heard in the sub below. He watched as Nelson reached up to activate his throat microphone.

"Nelson to _Seaview_, come in." His voice was terse.

"This is _Seaview_, go ahead sir," Sparks replied.

"I need to speak with Mr. Morton."

"I'm here, Admiral." The XO's reply came almost immediately.

"How close are you to the wreck site?" Nelson questioned. There was a brief pause.

"30 minutes, sir."

Nelson closed his eyes for a moment then spoke again. "I have good reason to believe that the compartment housing the escape hatch on the _Tantalus_ is already flooded or is flooding now. I believe that the remaining men on the boat have gone to the control room, and the dive team will have to access the boat through the conning tower. They'll need a hatch jack to open the inside hatch after they seal the outside one since there is no way to pump out the water between the two hatches." The safety locks that prevented the inner hatch from opening if there was water present in the sail section were standard submarine equipment. The hatch jack would disengage the safety locks

There was silence again as the implication of what Nelson had said was absorbed by Morton.

"That means they have to seal off the bow of the boat. That will cut their air supply down by a third, at least."

"I know," Nelson said, his voice grim. His active mind had already figured out the diminished volume of oxygen and the needs of five men. He didn't like the figures that kept coming up. It was going to be very close. There was no hatch jack on the flying sub, so there was no way to help them right now. He grasped the controls on the arms of his seat and brought the FS1 up to ¼ speed. He wanted to look over the sub and see if he could spot the damage or other problems that they might not know about yet.

Chapter 13-

On the _Tantalus_ they were well aware of the other problems. The five men stood in the control room; one candle, standing on its own on the floor, lit a circle of about ten feet, fading into the darkness after that. The five men sat on the deck, wrapped in blankets to keep out the cold. Hansen and Boskins were looking grim, Pritchard was seething, Michaels looked scared, and Crane calm. He was leaning back against the periscope railing, thinking over the situation. It had not worked out as well as it had first appeared. The breach in the bow was not the only one. They had found it necessary to leave the aft sections closed off as they were flooding rapidly. It seemed that the ceramic metal compound was not up to taking the kind of punishment the boat had gone through. Pritchard had expressed his feelings about the quality of workmanship in no uncertain terms. Hansen had reminded him that the shipyard had used the materials provided from his, Pritchard's, company, and were not responsible for the performance of the new product.

While the center of the boat seemed to have survived intact, the problem was that they now only had what oxygen was in the compartments immediately adjacent to the control room. After the initial outburst from Pritchard and the scathing rebuke from Hansen, Crane had suggested that they return to the control room, get as comfortable as possible and keep oxygen use to a minimum. They had decided to keep the one candle to keep up moral, and to keep track of the oxygen levels by watching the strength of the flame.

They had sat for the last ten minutes quietly contemplating their own thoughts and listening for any sounds from outside that would indicate that the _Seaview_ had arrived. Crane knew that the boat was probably at least twenty minutes away. He had been relieved to hear the single ping in response to his coded words, no doubt produced by the flying sub. Leave it to Nelson to give him a concise response that left no doubt that he had been heard.

He also knew that there was nothing that the admiral could do to help them, the flying sub not being rigged for this kind of rescue. He wondered briefly if Nelson could see the damage in the aft section and would know that breathable air was in short supply. That realization would not set well with the admiral. Sitting out there with nothing to do but wait while Crane and the others possibly suffocated was completely against Nelson's character.

Crane shook his head, trying to clear it of the negative thoughts. They seemed to be doing fine with the oxygen levels; he had kept a close eye on everyone to see if anyone was showing signs of anoxia or claustrophobia. The candle, the last onboard, was starting to burn down now, but the flame still burned steadily. He knew they would soon be forced to deal with the total darkness that would result when it burned out. Crane was familiar, and even comfortable, with the utter blackness of the deep, and it held no terrors for him, but he knew the others would be feeling the impact. Hansen and Boskins were obviously experienced submarine men and so didn't really worry him; but, Pritchard and Michaels were civilians, and Michaels already looked near the edge. Again he shook his head; he'd deal with any complications arising from panic when he had to. He tried to ease his shoulder to a more comfortable position.

The cold was not helping the deep ache that had settled there. He was growing more concerned as he tried to move and it sent a shaft of agony through him, causing him to close his eyes and grit his teeth. He was pretty sure that it was dislocated. He didn't know how much tendon or cartilage damage had resulted. So far the others hadn't noticed his injury, or if they had, they hadn't said anything. It wasn't as if they could do anything about it anyway, at least noting he wanted to try here in these conditions, so he saw no need to mention it. He sighed and leaned his head back against the periscope island rail, trying to keep from looking at his watch again. Time seemed to be slowing down, creeping by with complete disregard for the five men waiting so patiently. He sighed again, and turned his thoughts to the next scheduled maintenance of _Seaview_. There were several items he wanted to go over with the chief about how the boat was being maintained; there was a list he could build while they waited.

Chapter 14

Chip stood behind Kowalski who was manning the sonar station. The blip that was FS1 was easily seen but there was no sign of the _Tantalus_. It had merged with the bottom. He paced a few feet one way and then back the other, his eyes not long from the scope. He had taken the _Seaview_ out as soon as possible once they had a minimum number of crewmen present. Word had spread quickly among the men on liberty and they had come back to the boat in groups. They had moved out of the bay as quickly as the regulations allowed and had moved up to flank speed as soon as they could dive. Now, none too soon, they were at periscope depth, and everything was running smoothly. It was like every other time that the boat had to go to the rescue of their captain. Everyone was focused on that goal; even the boat seemed to understand that efficiency and speed were needed to ensure the return of the captain.

Chip finally gave up pacing behind Kowalski and moved up where O'Brien was hovering over the chart as if trying to find a quicker route to the wreck site. The two officers exchanged looks, and Morton knew that O'Brien was just as worried as he was. The call from the admiral had been heard throughout the control room, and Chip knew that the wireless scuttlebutt system had spread the information all over the boat by the time Nelson had signed off. He had asked for volunteers for the dive team and had found everyone who was dive qualified in line. He had chosen the best of the best, and had wished that he could join them. He knew what Crane would think of _that_ idea though. No, his lot was to remain on the boat, and worry. He had gotten with Jamieson and made sure that the doctor and his corpsmen would be standing by and ready as soon as the first man was brought aboard.

He had been able to tell from the admiral's tone that things were not good and were likely to get even worse. If one section was flooding, who was to say that others weren't as well? In fact, they had no proof that there was any section of the other submarine that _wasn't_ in danger of filling up with water.

The idea that Lee Crane, his best friend, might be dying on some other submarine while his own boat was less than an hour away made him almost physically ill. He had grown used, almost, to the trouble that seemed to follow Crane everywhere. He had also come to realize that, while he might be high maintenance, Lee Crane was worth the worry he too often caused his friends. Morton was not ready to have the friendship, the camaraderie, end. He knew that Lee would be doing everything he could to survive and Morton wasn't going to let that go to waste. He leaned over the chart with O'Brien, looking for that quicker way.

Chapter 15

Nelson stared grimly at the breach they could see in the hull plates of the _Tantalus_. The breach was in the aft section on the starboard side of the boat. He was unfamiliar with the interior of the boat, but, from what he knew of Pritchard, he was willing to bet that safety had not been a major concern in the design. The use of the untried ceramic-metal blend was only one example of that. Nelson had read the article regarding the proposed usage as a hull material and had found the test results spotty and unpersuasive. As he looked over the hull, thinking of the breach they had seen in the bow section that no doubt was responsible for the flooding of the escape hatch compartment, he decided that when this vessel was raised, he would be sure that someone with more concern for safety than profit would be involved in monitoring the submarine's salvage, refitting and future usage. Twenty men had escaped this time, five were yet to be saved, and Nelson was determined that no more people would be put at risk in this submarine. Pritchard would pitch a fit, but Nelson knew the people to contact and really didn't care what Pritchard thought. They had received word five minutes earlier from the Coast Guard cutter _Hedison_ that they had picked up the men who had reached the surface, and were standing by in case they were needed. As he thought of that, another air bubble, more of the precious gas that Lee and the others desperately needed, came out of the hole in the hull, forced out by the pressure of the inrushing water.

He sighed and looked at the chronometer on the control panel. Ten more minutes before _Seaview_ would be here. He was not sure how much of the _Tantalus_ was flooded, but he knew that the oxygen levels would be radically less than when they had first planned this solution to the problem. He could only wait and hope that his plan didn't get the man who was like a son to him killed, along with four others. He had watched Crane walk into danger so many times before, even commanded him to do so on occasion, and the thought that sometime, somewhere, the odds were going to catch up to them was never far from his mind. That this could be it; that Lee could die because of another man's vain need to 'keep up' with Nelson. The thought of Lee as the collateral victim of yet another man's anger was almost more than he could bear to think about. He noticed that Sharkey suddenly sat up in his chair, his hand going to his earphones. A big grin split the chief's face, and he turned to Nelson.

"I got the _Seaview_, Sir. She's at the very edge of sonar range, but she's coming in at flank speed it sounds like." Nelson smiled and nodded. Good. He was tired of waiting. He looked back at Sharkey as he sat up even straighter. What now?

Sharkey grabbed the clipboard again, and Nelson realized that he must be hearing another message from the submarine below. He waited as the chief laboriously wrote down each letter. Obviously this was a longer message; he could only hope it was good news. Finally the chief stopped writing. But instead of handing the clipboard to Nelson as he had before, he sat there staring at the clipboard for a long moment before leaning forward to hit the ping button to signal receipt of the message.

"Well?" Nelson said impatiently when the chief sat back in his chair. He was shocked when Sharkey turned sad eyes to him. "What is it?" He reached over and grabbed the clipboard. It took his mind a moment to parse out the words again, but the message soon became all too clear. Air going. No Lite. Hurry.

Nelson swore, causing Sharkey to raise an eyebrow. Nelson reached for his throat mike. "_Seaview_ this is Nelson, come in!"

"This is _Seaview_, sir."

"Give me Morton. Now!"

"Morton here"

"Push it to emergency flank. Give it everything she's got. I don't care if you burn out every circuit, just get here. Now. Nelson out." Even as he said it, he knew that the first person to object to that order would have been the very man he was so anxious to save. Lee Crane took any damage to the _Seaview_ personally. Nelson could only hope that the young man would be around to complain about the treatment of his "Gray Lady". Nelson unbuckled his restraint and stood, moving back to the dive locker. Sharkey spun in the chair, his face puzzled.

"Uh… Admiral? What are you doing, sir?" he asked as Nelson began getting out his diving equipment. Nelson finished getting out the equipment, and began stripping down to get into his dive suit as he spoke,

"I'm going out to the conning tower. I'll have it open and waiting for the dive team. Get on the radio and make sure that they are deployed as soon as possible, and that they have extra air tanks. Have Jamieson standing by at the moon pool; it will be faster to bring them in that way than cycling through the dive hatch." He was in his dive suit now, and was pulling on his air tanks. He knew there wasn't much he could do, but he had to do something, and the minutes he saved the dive team by having the conning tower hatch opened could be the minutes that made all the difference between life and death for the trapped men.

"Maybe I should go with you, sir, just to be an extra hand? You need a diving buddy anyways, Captain's regulations, you know, sir," Sharkey said hopefully, with a small smile. Nelson shook his head as he buckled up his gear and checked his regulator.

"No, Chief. One of us kibitzing in the conning tower is bad enough. Captain Crane will just have to write me up for breach of regulations later. Once the _Seaview_ gets here, get the flying sub docked; we may have to use it to evacuate one or more of the men. Jamie can only handle so many at a time even with his corpsmen." Satisfied with his equipment, he nodded his head at the hatch. "Help me out, Francis. I'll keep in touch. Let me know as soon as the _Seaview_ is here and the dive team is in the water."

Sharkey, not pleased with having Nelson going on his own, resigned himself to being chewed out by Morton when he docked, and then by the skipper when _he_ found out later. Not that Mr. Morton would have been able to stop the admiral, but enforcing regulations was Morton's job, and he expected a major effort by everyone to toe the line the captain had drawn. Now the skipper might just have had a chance of stopping the admiral; he was one stubborn man, and was not afraid to speak his mind to Nelson when it came to the safety of the boat, crew, or most especially Nelson himself. But the skipper wasn't there; Sharkey refused to think that he might not ever be there again. Sharkey lowered the hatch cover back down and listened as the lock cycled. He went and sat down in the pilot's chair, buckling himself back in absently as he watched Nelson swim toward the wreck. He glanced over at the sonar screen; he could see the blip that represented the _Seaview_ moving rapidly toward them. He could only pray that she would be in time for the skipper and the other four men.

Chapter 16

Crane could see the faintly glowing dial of his dive watch. He had to blink several times to get his eyes to focus. Five more minutes, only five more minutes and _Seaview_ should be overhead. It had better be quick, because he wasn't sure how much longer they could last. Other than that faint light from his dive watch he could see nothing. It was cold, dark, and he could hear only the faint, rasping breaths of his companions as they all waited, waited for the sounds that would signal that they would not die here, alone in the darkness. He had heard the upper hatch of the conning tower being opened five minutes before.

He suspected that Nelson, being the man he was, had decided to be ready and waiting for the dive team. It made him feel better that Nelson was close by. He just hoped that it would be soon. He didn't want to die here, and he really didn't want to die here with Nelson so close and likely to feel so very guilty if they were not in time. He drew another breath, his chest aching from the effort of getting enough oxygen to satisfy the need. He was still slumped against the rail. The others had lain down, huddling in their blankets against the cold and darkness. They had talked at first, but then as the air got thinner and it got harder to breathe, it had become quiet. He tried to continue on the maintenance list, but he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate. They were running out of time.

Chapter 17

In the chamber of the conning tower, Nelson was floating in place, listening to the radio traffic. Sharkey had tied FS1's communications with _Seaview_ into his line. The _Seaview_ was within a mile, and the dive teams were ready to go. Chip was going to bring the boat right over the top of the wreck. The divers would be leaving from the moon pool so they didn't even have to wait for the lock to cycle. As he waited for them to join him in the metal chamber lit only by his dive light, his thoughts were never far from the five men so close below. He knew there wasn't anything more he could do, but he almost ached with the need to move, to do _something_. He had considered several different possibilities, but nothing that was feasible. He had even begun constructing a portable laser/hull cutter in his mind for possible future crises. With Lee, you could count on… he couldn't finish the thought. He and Chip often commented half-jokingly on Lee's affinity for trouble; somehow, it wasn't at all funny right now. He occupied himself with visualizing the necessary miniaturization of components to keep his mind off the possibility that less than twenty feet below him Lee Crane might be suffocating to death. It didn't work.

Chip Morton spoke into the mike, "All stop." The boat coasted the last distance to come to a stop over the wreck of the _Tantalus_. He nodded in satisfaction. _Perfect_. "All engines to station keeping. Dive team away." He moved over to stand behind Richards who had taken over from Kowalski on the sonar. Kowalski, a master diver, had been at the head of the volunteer line. Wanting the best to be out there for Lee, Morton had allowed the man to go. The rest of the dive team was made up of Patterson, Riley, Henderson, Borgson, and Smith. He wanted to be sure that there were plenty of hands and strong backs available without having to send back to the boat for reinforcements.

"Divers in the water, sir," Richards announced as six dots became visible on the screen. Morton nodded absently and went toward the radio shack.

"Sparks, get on to Sharkey. Have him dock the FS1 now. After that, keep the radio open to the divers' channel. I want to hear what goes on."

"Aye, sir," Sparks replied and started flipping the necessary switches. He, like everyone in the control room -like everyone on the whole boat- was on edge, waiting to hear the fate of the skipper. Morton moved up to the nose. Looking through the clear plates he studied the wreck of the _Tantalus_. She had been a good-looking boat. Not as good as _Seaview_, but he could see that she had good lines. He had done some reading last night on the ceramic/metal hull plates and had thought it sounded good in theory, but was happy to have the improved titanium plates that sheathed _Seaview_ around him in practice. He knew that Lee felt the same. Crane had been characteristically polite to this Pritchard, had listened to his offer and had gone to see the other submarine, but Morton knew that noting short of an army would remove Lee Crane from the _Seaview_. To Crane, there were submarines, and then there was his "Gray Lady"- she wasn't just a boat, a tool, a machine, she was infinitely more. She was part of him, in his blood. And he was part of her.

She had been a good boat under John Phillips. Chip had been proud to serve on her, and knew she was the best there was. But once Lee Crane had come, it was as if their capabilities had moved up a notch. Was it coincidence, or had Lee Crane's penchant for trouble been the catalyst that seemed to draw every possible villain out there into their sphere of influence? It seemed ludicrous to Morton that sometimes they couldn't even go out to look at seaweed without finding some horrifying threat, but there it was. And they survived each time more or less intact. Far from resenting the trouble that came to them, the crew took pride in the dangers they had faced and overcome for the safety of the country and even the planet. They were the 'go to guys.' Who you gonna call? _Seaview_! He shook his head and smiled at the weird track his mind had gotten on. He wished again that he had been able to go with the dive team. It would be better than waiting here. He turned back to the control room. The best thing he could do right now for Lee was to make sure that his boat was running correctly in his absence.

Chapter 18

Nelson knew that the dive team was on their way down. Sharkey had switched off the general communications channel, and he could only hear the dive team talking among themselves. He looked up as the light level in the chamber rose and the first of the team came through the hatch. He recognized Kowalski by his eyes, and saw someone he suspected had to be Patterson next. Nelson noticed that both had two regulators on their tanks so that another person could share the tank. That would make it easier when they moved the men back to the _Seaview_, as they would not have to buddy breathe with possibly inexperienced people. Borgson, an experienced engineer, came in next to look at the hatch. After poking around the hatch for a few moments he looked up at Nelson.

"No problem cracking this one, sir. She's a standard Engstrom hatch. Take about three minutes."

"Crack it," Nelson ordered succinctly, trying not to fidget as he watched the hatch jack lowered down by the other divers and Borgson situate it on the hatch cover. A few moments later Kowalski and Patterson moved in at Borgson's wave. The three men hauled away on the overthrow bar that drove the teeth into the hatch locks, disengaging them. Once they had dug in to the correct level, Borgson waved the other men off. Kowalski called Riley and Smith to come into the chamber and the top hatch was closed. It was a tight fit for them all. Borgson looked at Nelson who nodded. He gave a final yank on the overthrow handle and the hatch swung up; the water voided into the control room below in a rush, rocking the divers. They all removed their regulators and swim fins, and then stood back to allow Nelson go down the ladder before they took turns doing the same. It was awkward with the tanks on, but he was soon through with Kowalski following him.

The air was stale, and he knew that the CO2 count must be high and the oxygen levels very low. The dive lights were the only illumination in the room, casting an eerie glow from above. He couldn't get a really good idea of what the control room had looked like before the crash, but his own light showed him the bow end of the room partially filled with water from the chamber above, and the darkened panels lining the room. He forgot about that as he moved his light aft and it revealed a slumped figure sitting against the periscope island. Four other blanket covered bodies lay on the deck. Nelson knew who the one sitting watch would be, and rushed forward to kneel at Crane's side.

In the dive light's reflected glow Crane was pale, his eyes closed. Nelson reached a suddenly shaking hand toward Crane's throat to take his pulse and then cursed as he realized he was still wearing his gloves. He pulled one off using his teeth, and reached out again. Crane's skin was cold, but there was a faint, steady beat detectable. Nelson grabbed his regulator and gently forced it into Crane's mouth. He gave him a burst of air, waited for a moment and then gave him another. A quick glance around showed each still figure was receiving similar help. Nelson turned his attention back to Crane as he heard a low groan from the younger man. He watched as the golden hazel eyes blinked open and looked around in confusion. The gaze took in the men before him, and then turned to look at Nelson crouched beside him. A small smile crossed the still pale face.

"You took your time. Did you take the scenic route?" he whispered, his throat dry. Nelson smiled at him and took a breath from the tank. The air was getting staler and he found it hard to catch his breath. He offered the regulator back to Crane.

"Well, you didn't leave the porch light on and you left the door locked. What did you expect? We can pack up and go if you want." Crane shook his head, wincing as a headache pounded at his temples. He knew that was from the overload of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere of the boat. The air from Nelson's dive tank was quickly bringing him back up to speed mentally, and he was glad to see the others moving around as well.

"You made such a mess getting in, you might as well stay. What's the chance of a ride out of here?"

"Pretty good, I'd say. _Seaview_'s overhead. We'll get you all moving and take you out one at a time."

Crane nodded.

"Them first. I can wait," he said, and watched as amusement flared in Nelson's eyes. "What?" he asked.

"I somehow knew you were going to say that. Don't you think the CAPTAIN of the boat, or maybe the OWNER, should have a say in who is the last to leave?"

The unusual paleness of his captain's skin let Nelson see the blush that spread over Crane's face. He smiled again as he realized that his friend didn't even recognize his own knee-jerk reactions; Crane was a captain to his bones. It was always the crew and others first. Nelson heard a chuckle from the side and turned to find a short, dark-haired man of 45 looking at him. Kowalski was at his side, allowing him use of the second regulator.

"Speaking as captain of this wreck, I personally don't care who goes last. I would really like to get out of here. I'm not cut out for this adventure on the high seas thing. My tour in the Navy was nothing like this. Just get me back to the shipyard and I'll be happy."

"I second that," said the man Patterson was leaning over. He was the same age as the first man but was a barrel-chested blond with washed out blue eyes and a hairline that had receded over the top of his head. "I am really getting a serious dislike for this boat."

"When you are all done being amusing about the wreck you've made of my boat, I would like to get out of here. I have lawyers to contact," a voice said coldly from the other side of Crane. Nelson looked over and into the dark eyes of Jason Pritchard III. He was decidedly the worse for wear. His suit, undoubtedly expensive, was dirty and wrinkled. His hair, usually so impeccably styled, was mussed, and he looked every one of his years despite the amount of plastic surgery that he was reported to have had done. Nelson locked stares with him for a moment and then spoke slowly and clearly.

"We will leave when I deem it safe to do so and not a moment before. Whether you contact a whole legion of lawyers is your prerogative, but you might wish to remember that you are currently dependent on ME, MY crew, and MY boat to get you off of this wreck and back to dry land. If you can't be grateful, you can at least be quiet."

"Now look, Nelson," Pritchard said, pushing Riley's hand aside as the young man tried to give him another breath of air. Riley, not sure of what to do, hovered as the angry man struggled to his feet. "You and your wunderkind here may have those idiots in Washington snowed but this is MY boat and things will get done MY way. These so called submariners couldn't figure out how to unplug a simple computer and wrecked my boat. Someone is going to pay for that!"

Nelson also rose to his feet, eyes flashing. He started to reply when he felt a hand brush his leg. He looked down into Crane's eyes and saw him shake his head slightly, a subtle reminder that this was not the time or the place to exercise his temper. Message received; he took a deep breath and did a few square root calculations in his head, letting his blood pressure drop. Lee didn't need to use up what little strength remained braking up a fight. Instead of replying to Pritchard, he turned to the man who was sitting to Crane's left. A thin balding man he had the feeling he should recognize.

"Do you feel up to being moved, Mr. Uh…?" he paused. He didn't miss the quick glance the other man threw at Pritchard before answering. _That was it; he had seen the man trailing Pritchard in news pictures._

"Michaels," the man said, and struggled to his feet with some help from Borgson. "I'm ready to leave."

Nelson continued to ignore Pritchard as the others got to their feet. Only Crane remained seated. Nelson went over to help lever Crane up. He reached down to grab Lee's right arm but stopped when the younger man gasped and shook his head. If possible, he went paler.

"Lee?" he said quietly.

"It's a little sore." Crane shrugged, using one shoulder. He offered his left hand and, between the two of them, got to his feet. He swayed a little and Nelson braced him. The others were moving up the ladder into the chamber above. It would be very crowded

"Can you swim?" Nelson asked, not fooled by the casual answer. Crane was notorious for minimizing injuries. Nelson was convinced that the man would rather bleed to death than admit to needing a doctor. It was a trait that kept his friends on their toes watching for the subtle signs that told of something amiss. It wouldn't be so bad, but the man was a trouble magnet!

"Kicking won't be a problem and I can use the one arm. It's not too far? I take it Chip double parked?"

Nelson smiled and shook his head fondly. Evidently Lee was determined to make it on his own. Since Lee would be sharing a tank with Kowalski, Nelson would be free to help him if necessary. He was determined to keep an eye on his young captain. He watched as Crane went awkwardly up the ladder using only his left arm. Nelson took one last look around the control room, his dive light shining off the blackened screens. He gave a huff. He didn't see that it was any better than _Seaview_; maybe a bit larger, with some cosmetic additions that Nelson didn't really like. He expected that Pritchard would have the whole thing redone once it was salvaged, but Nelson hoped he would just write it off as a lost cause and cut his losses. The man had no concept of preserving the environment, and the idea of him running rampant, mining the ocean depths, was very distasteful to him.

He turned back to the ladder and went up, once again moving awkwardly through the hatch. Crane was leaning against the bulkhead breathing heavily, and Nelson noted that he had his hand tucked inside his shirt. Supporting the injured shoulder, he supposed. He moved over beside him and offered his regulator. Lee gave him a grateful smile. Nelson could see the tiredness and pain Lee wouldn't admit to in his eyes as he took a breath on the regulator. With everyone pushed as far back against the bulkheads as possible, Borgson closed and clamped the lower hatch down. The divers put on their fins and arranged their masks. Extra masks had been brought for the five men, and each was outfitted with a mask and regulator. Nelson looked around; everyone was ready and braced back against the bulkhead. The inrushing water would be turbulent but due to the close quarters there shouldn't be any problems. He nodded to Kowalski. Kowalski, standing on the other side of Crane, nodded in understanding and radioed to Henderson who was waiting out on the top of the conning tower.

When he got the radio call, Henderson opened the upper hatch. Water poured into the chamber, battering the eleven men inside. It filled rapidly, and they were soon making their way out of the chamber one at a time. Everyone seemed to be calm, and there were no problems as they started up toward the _Seaview_ hovering 50 feet above the wreck. Nelson stayed at the side of Crane and Kowalski. They were the last of the divers heading up, and Nelson reached over and grabbed Crane's belt. No one else but Kowalski could see and the seaman pretended he didn't notice the assistance; Nelson was able to help the younger man along with no damage to his pride. Soon they would be home.

Chapter 19

Morton had handed over the con to O'Brien and was now headed to the moon pool to join Jamieson, his two corpsmen, Sharkey - who had docked the FS1 in record time - and the three ratings who were waiting for the divers. Jamieson had been listening in on the divers' radio frequency and was relieved that there didn't appear to be any injuries among those rescued but he wanted to be ready. He had blankets and a full medical kit available to hand, and he was waiting patiently as Morton came in the door. Morton looked over the preparations and nodded in satisfaction. He walked over to stand next to Jamieson.

"Looks like you're loaded for bear, Jamie. You know something I don't?" he said as he eyed the medical kit at Jamieson's feet. Jamieson grimaced.

"After all, we _are _talking about Lee Crane. Think about it. What are the chances of him being in a crashing submarine without getting some kind of injury," Jamieson replied in a voice too low to be heard by the ratings who were talking on the other side of the compartment. Morton grinned at him.

"Don't you think the admiral would have mentioned it if something was wrong? Or Ski? Lee can't intimidate the admiral, and Ski would find a good reason to give us a heads up and get away with it in the end."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Jamieson replied, not convinced. He was way too familiar with Crane's ability to hide injuries, and ignore those he couldn't hide. Sharkey, who had been hovering at the edge of the pool, suddenly called out,

"Here they come!" Everyone moved forward as the first two divers surfaced. It was Patterson and Hanson. The two ratings helped first Hanson and then Patterson out of the water. One of the corpsmen stepped forward, tossed a blanket over the soaked man and helped him to the side to sit on the bench there. As he was sitting down, the next two pair surfaced. It was Borgson and Michaels, followed closely by Smith and Boskins. They were quickly moved out. Just as the last man was out of the pool, Riley and Pritchard surfaced. Pritchard spat out the regulator as soon as he surfaced and then swam to the ladder. He waved off the men trying to help him and climbed out, to stand dripping and scowling at everyone. Frank, one of the corpsmen, came toward him with a blanket that Pritchard snatched out of his hand and slung about his shoulders. His eyes ran over all the men in the room; obviously pegging Morton and Jamieson as being the most likely to be in charge, he headed for them at full steam.

"I need a phone, radio, or whatever, and somewhere private to make some calls," he said in a commanding tone. Morton and Jamieson, unaware of who this old man in a soggy, torn suit with wet hair dripping down his face might be, exchanged glances. Morton stepped slightly forward, his best XO face on.

"I'm sorry, sir. I'm not authorized to allow any calls to be made. As soon as Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane are aboard they can authorize a call for you." Chip watched the flush rise in the man's face as he spoke. The man was the color of a beet by the time he finished.

"Why wait for them! Who's in charge now? I want to talk to him immediately," he blustered, swiping at his hair.

"I'm Lt Commander Morton, the executive officer. I'm afraid that there can be no unauthorized communications."

"Look, Morton, my name's Pritchard, Jason Pritchard the Third. I own that hunk of junk on the sea floor, and I need to make some calls, now. I know you guys like to pretend you're some Navy ship or something, but show some initiative and let's get on with this, huh?" Morton's face had become stonier as the other man spoke, a clear warning sign to anyone who had been on the receiving end of one of his more scathing tongue-lashings. When he spoke, it was in a quiet, dangerous tone that had the ratings looking at each other nervously.

"Mr. Pritchard. We don't _pretend_ to be anything. The _Seaview_ IS a Naval Reserve Vessel, crewed by Naval Reserve personnel who are addressed according to their rank. Regardless of that, as on any _boat_, we have a chain of command, and Admiral Nelson and Captain Crane are at the top of that chain. I have standing orders as regards what communications are and are not allowed. Passenger requests for communications are relayed to The Captain or The Admiral and approved by them before any such communication takes place. So, as I said, when the admiral and the captain are aboard they will authorize your calls IF they see fit."

Pritchard looked like he was going to have a stroke right there. Chip found himself almost enjoying the show. So this was the pompous ass that had tried to hire Lee Crane away from the _Seaview_. He could see now that they definitely had not needed to worry. Lee would never work for a man like this. Even after this short acquaintance, Morton found himself feeling sorry for the man that had programmed the computer that had brought down the _Tantalus_. Pritchard was obviously winding up for another go at it when the last of the divers surfaced in the pool. Morton neatly stepped around the man and went to the edge of the pool.

Crane's dark head was easy to pick out among the others in their diving hoods. Morton frowned as he noticed that Crane was using an awkward one-handed crawl style to move toward the ladder. He cast a quick glance at Jamieson, but need not have bothered as the doctor was also watching the captain's progress, a frown on his face. Crane was an expert swimmer, and they had both seen his easy, flowing style before, and this was not it. Crane held back and allowed Nelson to go up the ladder first. Morton saw Jamieson roll his eyes at that, and hid a smile. Crane was next up the ladder, and it was plain to see that he was not using his right arm at all. He was obviously off balance, and his face was pale. Jamieson snatched a blanket from Frank and stepped forward.

"All right. You want to tell me, or do I find out for myself?" he said as he put the blanket around the slim shoulders, eyes sweeping over the rest of the captain's form. He couldn't see anything obvious, but with Crane you never knew. Crane looked sheepishly at the doctor. He shrugged his left shoulder.

"I think it's just dislocated, Jamie. No big deal. You pop it back into place and I'll be out of your hair. So to speak," he added the last with an evil grin.

"I'll ignore that, Captain, I do have the Hippocratic Oath to consider; and I'll be the judge of how soon you leave my clutches." He gave an equally evil grin to the captain, who smiled back. Jamieson looked at the other rescued men, and then back at Nelson - who had divested himself of his tanks - and Crane. "I would like to give everyone a once-over in sickbay. Looks like a good toweling off, some coffee, and some dry clothes will solve most of the problems I see here. With your permission, Admiral, Captain?" He was most conscious of Pritchard fuming silently to the side, and Jamison wasn't going to undercut Chip's stance by taking his usual hard line with the captain. He too had taken exception to Pritchard's tone and his sneering at _Seaview_'s procedures. Nelson nodded and turned to grasp Crane by the left arm, not giving the younger man time to respond.

"Come along, Lee. The quicker Jamie can have his way with you, the quicker you'll get out." He waved the other rescued men and corpsmen ahead, and they started filing out, following Frank toward sickbay. The dive team followed close behind, anxious to get out of their suits. As Nelson started to follow, Pritchard, who had been quietly fuming to the side, stepped forward.

"Look, Nelson, I have calls to make. Your stooge over there," he waved a hand at Morton, "wouldn't let me use the radio or phone or whatever. Said it was against the rules. You can keep your doctor and your towels and your dry clothes. I want a phone and I want off this bucket of bolts. I've more than enough time under the water today. I'll have my helicopter meet us ASAP and take me and Michaels off…" He stopped as Nelson started shaking his head. Anyone else would have seen the fire flare in the blue eyes; Lee Crane hung his head and shook it as he listened to the older man talking. He knew what was coming, and he knew that he could not forestall it as he had earlier. Not that he wouldn't like to say a word or two regarding what Pritchard had said himself. No one ran down his friend, his crew, or his boat.

"No, you look, Pritchard." Nelson started moving to stand directly in front of Pritchard. Crane had to duck his head again to hide his smile at the tone and at the disparate heights of the two men. Not that Nelson suffered due to his smaller stature. Lee looked up to find Morton grinning at him. "I frankly don't care what you want. This is MY boat and it's heading back into port at MY order. We will NOT be surfacing to let you off, and you will be given use of the radio at MY discretion. For now you will follow the regulations of this vessel as does anyone who is a GUEST aboard her, or you will make the trip back to port in the brig." As Pritchard tried to speak, Nelson easily overrode him. "As to the doctor's exam, towel and dry clothes, if you do not wish to avail yourself of those that is your prerogative. I will have a crewman show you to a cabin, where you will remain until you are notified that we have docked." Nelson turned on his heel, and spoke to Sharkey. "Chief, escort Mr. Pritchard to guest quarters A. Make sure that he remains there." Sharkey was having a hard time keeping a straight face but he managed a credible serious look as he tossed a quick salute to Nelson.

"Aye Aye, sir." he said. He gestured to the two ratings that were hovering in the background, trying to blend into the bulkhead. "Harrell, you heard the admiral. Take Mr. Pritchard to guest quarters A and remain outside until I relieve you. Pike, you can return to duty." Pike ducked quickly out the door. Harrell, at six foot four inches and two hundred and twenty well-muscled pounds, stepped forward and loomed over Pritchard. The man was once again red in the face, but he had ceased to sputter. He glared at Nelson.

"This isn't over, Nelson," he ground out, doing his best to ignore the looming crewman. When Nelson simply returned the glare, he stomped out the door, Harrell following close behind. Nelson returned to Crane's side and frowned at the smile that Crane was trying to hide.

"Something amusing, Captain?" he snapped, his temper still high. Crane and Morton, who had once again schooled his features into a perfect mask, exchanged amused glances.

Morton sidled toward the door.

"I'll uh… get us underway. Back to port, sir?" he asked innocently, addressing the question to Nelson, who growled in response. Chip made a quick exit, and something that sounded suspiciously like laughter could be heard echoing down the corridor. Nelson turned his disgruntled gaze on Crane who had managed to attain a serious face by concentrating on the ache in his shoulder.

"I'll just head on down to sickbay; Jamie will come looking for me soon. Why don't you go ahead and get out of your diving suit?" Crane knew it was usually best to let Nelson cool down at his own rate. He glanced around as he spoke and took in the slightly hangdog look on Sharkey's face. "I'm sure the chief can escort me down to make sure I get there in one piece." He started for the door, Sharkey practically sprinting to catch up with him.

"I'll make sure he gets there just fine, sir. Yes, sir, don't you worry about the skipper," he babbled as he went. The two men disappeared quickly down the corridor, Sharkey still talking a mile a minute, leaving Nelson standing alone in the moon pool chamber.

He looked about at his isolation, his temper slowly cooling. He knew he had just been 'managed,' and wasn't sure if he resented it or not. He bent to pick up his tanks and flippers. He would get out of his suit, go to his cabin and have a cigarette and perhaps a glass of the family tipple. By then Jamieson should have evaluated Crane's shoulder and have a prognosis. He would make an appearance and break up the argument that would be brewing between the two strong willed men. As he went aft toward the dive room, he smiled evilly to himself as he contemplated how he might just have to agree with whatever Jamie was bound to propose. He'd show Lee a few things about being 'managed.'

Chapter 20-

Chip Morton was in the sail, maneuvering _Seaview_ into the dock. He had come up several minutes before, and was giving commands through the mike. As he did so, his eyes were taking in the circus that seemed to have taken up residence on the pier. He finally brought the great boat to a stop, put the microphone down, and leaned on the rail to contemplate what he was seeing. There were three news vans, four sedans, and at least thirty people crowded on the decking. It technically WAS a public pier, but this was ridiculous. He watched as the more aggressive reporters yelled at the crewmen who were on deck to throw out the lines; it gave him a glow of satisfaction as the ratings held to discipline and ignored the questions. He picked up the mike and double clicked it. "Morton to Captain Crane. I think you might want to come up top, Skipper."

"What's going on, Chip?" came Crane's reply several seconds later. He had been paroled out of Sickbay on the provision that he stay off duty until the boat left to return to Santa Barbara in two more days; that he take the pain pills that Jamieson had prescribed; and that he keep his arm in the sling provided. After a heated argument regarding the length of time, the strength of the pain pills, and the necessity of a sling, Crane had agreed. His shoulder had been separated, but thankfully there had been little tendon or cartilage damage. Jamieson had given him a local anesthetic and had popped it back into place. An application of ice had brought down the swelling, and the much maligned pills had made the pain bearable, though he wasn't mentioning that part. Crane had gone to his cabin to change into a clean uniform with the help of his orderly, another hard fought point, lost when Nelson had weighed in, much to Crane's disgust.

"Words… fail me. Just come on up," Morton said, not bothering to keep the smile out of his voice. He knew that the crew would know what was going on in a matter of minutes, but he wanted to see Lee's face himself when he found out.

It was just a few minutes before Crane appeared at the hatch, and climbed the final steps up. He had a puzzled look on his face. Chip was grinning still, and motioned toward the dock. Crane turned and stepped forward to the rail, and almost threw himself backwards as a fusillade of flashbulbs went off in his face. He turned his back and faced Morton who was schooling his face into the XO mask again. "What the hell is going on?" he asked in a low voice. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder.

Morton shrugged. "They were waiting for us. My best guess is that someone intercepted the call to the Coast Guard. Or some of the _Tantalus_ crew made some quick phone calls once the ship got back to port. Want me to set up a press conference in the nose?" Crane glared at him.

"You think we could just go back out to sea?" he asked facetiously. He really hated to deal with the press. Not only was it not a good idea for someone who worked undercover on a regular basis, but he was naturally a very private man, and the idea of having his image spread all over newspapers and TV was unsettling. Morton shook his head.

"We keep Pritchard on board much longer and he and his toady will mutiny. The mood the admiral is in, he'll hang them from the yardarm before we get out of the harbor." Crane moved over to the rail opposite.

"We don't _have_ a yardarm," he said. He stared out over the harbor for a moment, ignoring the growing sounds from the dock. "Maybe we could just shoot them out of the torpedo tubes?" he suggested hopefully. Morton shook his head again.

"Against regs. No foreign objects in the tubes. Set a bad precedent." Crane sighed, and then headed down the ladder without another look over the side.

"I'll let the admiral know. Maybe he'll want some publicity. It doesn't hurt to have _Seaview_ in the news come allocations time on Capital Hill." He disappeared down the hatch. Morton took one more look over the side and followed him below after seeing that the Master at Arms had an armed security detail stationed at various positions on the deck. He instructed the men on watch to stay sharp as he went, knowing that they would have anyway.

When he turned from the ladder in the control room, he saw that Crane was in the nose speaking to Nelson already. Morton headed forward to join them, pausing to tell O'Brien to pass the word that liberty would be resumed ASAP, but that there might be a delay due to the press. Crane had seated himself at the table, and he and Nelson were speaking in low voices when he walked up. Nelson waved him to another chair. Morton could see that Nelson was more amused than angry, and he suspected that Crane had been sharing the torpedo tube suggestion.

"It seems we have some admirers, Mr. Morton. What do you suggest we do?" Nelson asked.

Chip shrugged.

"I don't think they'll go away, so I say throw them some fresh meat. Mr. Pritchard wants off so bad, I say let him go first, along with the men from the shipyard. Maybe that will be enough for them and they'll go away. We can at least off load the liberty crew while he tells his story. The rest of us are staying on board anyway, so it won't matter if they camp out there or not."

Both Nelson and Crane nodded. It made sense. It would be dark soon, the long mid- summer day coming to a reluctant end, and they doubted that the TV crews would wait around if no story seemed in the offing.

"I don't think Pritchard is going to give us a glowing report, sir. Could be bad press," Morton warned.

Nelson snorted. "That jackass can say what he wants," he said dismissively. "He will anyways. He can't change the facts of what happened, and he can't cover up his own culpability in it all, though he'll try. There were enough people in the boat that know the whole story, and I know for a fact that the media aren't all that enchanted with Pritchard. They'll be more than happy to print the truth when someone presents it to them." He didn't say who that someone might be, but both of the junior officers suspected that Nelson might be spending some time on the phone tonight. "I like your idea though. Have Sharkey escort him off the boat ASAP with my compliments."

Morton nodded and headed back to the control room to have Sharkey escort their guests ashore. The two men from the shipyard, Hanson and Boskins, had been welcome guests, enthused with seeing the _Seaview_, and happy to comply with all regulations of the boat. Pritchard and his aide, Michaels, had been holed up in the guest quarters for the entire trip. The aide had had some large bruises and a few cuts, but had come through his rough ride okay for the most part. Taken on his own, he seemed a nice enough man; Morton had been in sick bay when he had very sincerely thanked Crane for having saved him from serious injury. He had then disappeared into the guest quarters, only appearing to request a pad of paper and pen. Questioning of Crane regarding the incident had simply brought a one-shouldered shrug and a dismissive, 'I just steadied him during the turbulence when we hit.'

Both Crane and Nelson, along with the rest of the crew, had been content to leave Pritchard and Company alone for the duration of the cruise back to port. Morton would be happy to see the man go. Aside from the 'stooge' comment, Chip found himself very wary of the older man. There was ruthlessness in the man's eyes, a great capacity for vindictiveness that made Morton nervous. Both Nelson and Crane were well able to take care of themselves in a variety of arenas, but neither man was ruthless or vindictive, and neither could conceive the amount of destruction and trouble such a person could cause. Morton didn't consider himself ruthless; and while he might have the occasional vindictive streak, he controlled it well. But he did consider himself more able to understand a man like Pritchard than his superior officers so he decided that he would keep an eye on the man himself, just in case.

It took several minutes but first the two men from the shipyard and then Pritchard and Michaels were in the control room. Hanson and Boskins insisted on shaking hands and expressing their gratitude once more to Crane and Nelson. By the time they were done, Pritchard and Michaels had disappeared up the ladder. Crane let the two men know about the press presence on the dock and they were both amused.

"Hell, I ain't never had my face on no TV or in the paper. Lead me to them." Boskins smoothed his hand over his head and made sure his borrowed shirt was tucked in. The other men grinned, and Hanson rolled his eyes.

"Great. A star is born. Thank you again, Admiral Nelson. I _really_ appreciate what you did."

"My pleasure, Mr. Hanson. After all, you had my captain along. It's hard to break in a new one, you know," Nelson said with a small smile at Crane, who grinned back.

The two senior officers followed Hanson and Boskins up the ladder, and stood on the sail as the two men went over the gangplank. The press was almost to a man huddled around Pritchard who was holding forth in stentorian tones that they could not quite make out. Several of the reporters saw Hanson and Boskins leaving the boat and floated away from the crowd, attaching themselves to the two men as they reached the pier. The smaller group moved to the side, and Crane suspected that Nelson might not have to make any calls after all. Crane and Nelson were ignored, which was fine with them. Crane noticed that a second gangplank aft was getting some use from the crew, who were escaping up the pier swiftly. Obviously the plan had worked. He and Nelson moved without speaking to lean companionably on the rail.

"Well, I don't think he'll be offering you that position, Lee," Nelson said as they watched the impromptu press conference go on.

"Gee, and I thought I made a good impression. Maybe you could put in a good word for me?" Crane said facetiously. Nelson smiled and shook his head.

"I don't think that would help. Though I could try if you wanted."

"That's okay. I think I'll stay here for a while. At least until something better comes along," Crane quipped, smiling widely at the growl from Nelson. He became serious as he noticed that Pritchard had obviously run down and the impromptu press conference was breaking up. Pritchard now stood alone, and his gaze was malevolently locked on the two men looking down at him. "I don't think either of us is high on his list right now," he said seriously. He met Pritchard's stare head on, not flinching away. Nelson, also seeing the look, shook his head.

"Oh, on the contrary, I think we are both at the top of his list. I've been there for quite some time; it's nice to have company." He exchanged a look with Pritchard that gave as good as he got, then reached out a hand and placed it on Crane's good shoulder. He gently turned the man back toward the hatch. "I understand Cookie stayed on board, and that he is making his baked chicken and new potatoes. What do you say we go and enjoy it?"

On the dock, Pritchard watched the two men disappear and swore under his breath. He had underestimated Crane's loyalty to Nelson he saw that now. The younger man was no doubt as good as the reports had suggested, but he couldn't be molded to Pritchard's needs. Well, if he wasn't on Pritchard's side, then he was the enemy. There was no neutral ground. This wasn't finished.

The End... for now.


End file.
